To Defend and Protect
by Gwenneth
Summary: Someone near and dear to Caspian is kidnapped and the kidnapper demands that Caspian call the Kings and Queens of Old back to Narnia. What’s in store for the Pevensies when they find themselves facing a new threat? Sequel to my story, “To War”.
1. Chapter 1

**To Defend and Protect  
**By: Gwenneth

_**Disclaimer:**__ They aren't my characters, only Quentin and Miriam and some minor characters. I'm not making any money off this, just taking a lot of pleasure in writing it!_

_**Summary**__: Someone dear to Caspian is kidnapped and demands he call the Kings and Queens of Old back to Narnia. What's in store for the Pevensies when they find themselves facing a new threat? Sequel to my story "To War"._

_**Warnings:**__ This is ENTIRELY AU. It is set between __Prince Caspian__ and __The Voyage of the Dawn Treader__, and does disregard some of canon, which you will see rather quickly. I have tried to keep the characters as "in-character" as I can, though, since that's important to me. If you haven't read "To War", you should, or this won't make sense. This story picks up immediately where "To War" ended._

_**A/N**__: It might take a bit of time to update this, not like "To War" which was every other night. My beta, Phoenixqueen, and I are working on this and her story, "Between Families" which is another AU story just full of Pevensie angst and twists and turns! Check it out if you get a chance, you might like it!_

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**Part One:**

The crisp orange, brown and yellow leaves rustling and crackling in the light wind were the only sounds and movements in the woods for a long, drawn-out moment.

Quentin was staring at Peter, eyes wide. He said nothing as his friend _stood_ there holding his mother. Suddenly, the woman shook the shock part-way off and, trembling lightly in her oldest son's arms, twisted so that she could look him in the eyes.

"I don't understand, Peter," she whispered, holding onto him and glancing down to see that he was putting equal weight on both his legs. "How can you be standing? And … how did we get here? To – what did you call it – _Narnia_?"

Sighing gently, Peter stepped back from his mother, but kept his hold on her arm just in case she ended up fainting or something. After all, falling headfirst through a portrait into a magical land, and then learning your four children had been there before, would probably be enough to throw nearly anyone into a state of shock.

Edmund stepped closer, hovering around his mother as well as Peter spoke. "We have a lot to tell you, Mum," the oldest boy said. "But, before we get into the details, Narnia is a magical world that we were first introduced to when we stayed with Professor Kirke during the bombings."

Peter gestured for Susan and Lucy to join him and allowed his oldest sister to take up his position of lightly holding their mother as he moved to make sure Quentin was all right.

"So we're not in England?" Mrs. Pevensie whispered. "But _how_? I don't believe in magic. Or at least, I _didn't_." She brought a shaky hand to her face and scrubbed at her face. "Oh, I must be dreaming."

Lucy smiled softly. "No, Mum, you aren't dreaming," the young girl said. "Narnia is real. We'll tell you all about it." She turned to Peter, who was talking quietly to Quentin. "Peter? Where do you think we are?"

Looking over at Lucy, and then past her, Peter pursed his lips in a slight frown. "I would say quite close to the ruins of Cair Paravel," he said wistfully. "You see that rise there – " he pointed deeper into the forest, towards a distant outcropping of rock that rose above the treetops "– that is the cave Caspian and I took shelter in on our way to fetch your cordial, Lu."

Susan shook Mrs. Pevensie's arm gently, trying to draw her out of the state of semi-shock. "Mum? Are you all right?"

"I think I need to sit down…" the woman muttered, lowering herself as she said it. Susan followed her down and Lucy knelt beside her. "I feel a little faint."

Edmund frowned and knelt in front of their mother. Peter pulled a quiet Quentin along behind him so that he too was hovering near their mother. The dark-haired brother spoke finally, watching as she rested her head on her knees, breathing deeply to control her light-headedness.

"Mum, this is going to be very hard to believe," he said. "But I know if anyone can handle this, it's you. You're the strongest woman I know, Mum." He grinned when she raised her head and smiled at him. "Why don't you sit here and just calm down a bit. Peter and I will take a quick look around to make sure things are well here." When she made to argue, he added quickly, "We'll stay in sight, I promise."

When Mrs. Pevensie nodded, Edmund stood and moved to Peter's side. Peter looked to Quentin. "Come on," he said to the other boy as he once again tugged on his sleeve to get him moving. It was unusual that Quentin hadn't said much more than "get off me" when he'd been landed on. Peter noted it. "Quen? Are you going to be all right, mate?"

The boy turned glassy eyes on Peter. "_Hearing _about Narnia is one thing. _Being _here is another thing entirely, Peter," he said, his voice a whisper, as if he feared speaking. "I'm not really sure _how_ I feel right now. But …" he looked at his friend's leg. "I _am_ glad to see you walking."

Peter froze.

"Pete?" Edmund questioned in confusion, seeing his brother suddenly stop.

"I'm…I'm _walking_," the blonde said with not a little awe in his tone. As if it had just hit him that he was indeed walking.

Without a crutch.

Without the slightest bit of weakness in his right leg.

"I…" He trailed off, at a loss for words. He had wished this would happen, clung to Aslan's promise after a rough day at school, but he hadn't really put too much hope in it just in case it wasn't meant to be.

_Aslan __**did**__ say that Narnia would heal the hurts of our world. And my leg was only lame because it was necessary to keep me out of jail. Something bad preventing something worse. _He looked down at his legs, both of them planted firmly on the ground and supporting his weight. "Thank you, Aslan," he whispered before a thought formed in his mind and he looked up.

With a suddenly huge grin on his face, he smacked Edmund, whose eyes widened as he gripped his arm in surprise. Then Peter smirked.

And ran.

Edmund realized why his brother had smacked him.

Because _this_ time, he _could_ run away.

"Peter!" the younger boy shouted with a laugh and took off after his running brother, leaving a grinning Quentin in his wake.

The two boys bounded around, Edmund shouting at Peter between his laughter as his brother sharply switched directions to elude capture. Peter was completely caught off guard when a small figure darted forward and with a great windup, tossed a small pile of leaves up in the air to come raining down on her now still brothers.

Smiling, Lucy chuckled at the orange and yellow leaves in Peter and Edmund's hair as they stared at her. The smile was wiped off _her_ face when the smiles erupted on _theirs_.

Darting forward, Peter scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder, taking off with her squealing for him to put her back down "this instant" or she would whoop his "High King butt" when she _did_ get down.

"High King?"

Peter skidded to a halt at the quiet question, panting lightly from his exertions. He glanced between Edmund and Susan as he set Lucy back on the ground and grunted when she playfully punched him.

Mrs. Pevensie waved Susan away as she stood up, eyes no longer as glassy as when they'd first arrived. Brushing leaves and twigs off her clothes, she looked Peter in the eyes.

"I think you four owe me an explanation now," she said, looking between them with an expression only a mother could produce. "Seeing Peter running around, perfectly healthy, is enough to prove to me there is some magic at work here. But I know there is more to the story. I've noticed things about you, differences that I can't explain, like the chess. Also your tendency to act far older than children should…"

Peter rubbed at his chest, momentarily feeling an ache in his ribs, but not enough to stop him from moving. Narnia had gone a long way toward healing the fractures Rupert had given him.

"When I said we had a lot to tell you, I wasn't just saying that, Mum," the oldest boy said. "We should probably sit down for this." He moved back to his mother's side, picking the leaves from his hair, and plopped down as the others sank to the ground around him.

Turning to Lucy, Peter gestured for her to begin the story – since it really started with her discovery. The girl took a deep breath and turned to their mother.

"Well, one day while at Professor Kirke's, it was raining and I begged Peter to play hide and seek," she said. "I couldn't find any place to hide until I went into the spare room – and found the wardrobe."

She went on to talk about meeting Mr. Tumnus, how he had originally planned to turn her over to the White Witch, and then how he'd changed his mind. Lucy glossed over the arguments her story had caused and jumped to where all four of the siblings had entered Narnia together and had followed the Beaver to his dam.

"Ed snuck out," she continued slowly, turning to her brother uncertainly. He was avoiding everyone's eyes as she continued. "He went to the Witch's castle."

Even knowing very little of this witch, Mrs. Pevensie's eyes darted to her younger son in surprise. "Why?"

Edmund looked up. "I was different then, Mum," he muttered. "I was an angry little boy who didn't like it that Peter was always better than I was. I had stumbled into the wardrobe when I followed Lucy one night and met the Witch. She was nice to me, and made me feel important. So I went to her to take her up on her offer to make me a King. To make me something more than him."

He paused, looking apologetically at Peter, before adding, "I betrayed them."

Peter rested a hand on Ed's shoulder. "When we realized he'd gone, I wanted to go after him, but Mr. Beaver stopped me," Peter said. "He said the Witch was using Ed as bait and that she intended to kill us all."

"_Kill _you!" their mother erupted, straightening so quickly Peter worried she'd strain a muscle. "Actually _kill_ you? Is this world dangerous? Why would she want to kill four children?" She was clutching her hands together rather tightly and Susan pried them apart before she could injure herself.

"There was a prophecy," the older girl said. "According to the prophecy, when four human children entered Narnia – two boys and two girls – and were named rulers over Narnia, the Witch would be defeated."

"There was a little more to it than that," Lucy added. "The other part of the prophecy said, _'Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes into sight. At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more. When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death, and when he shakes his mane, we will have spring again.'_ Aslan is the King Above All Kings, and the Beavers told us that he had returned to Narnia after a very long time."

"We decided to find this Aslan fellow to get help getting Edmund back," Susan continued. She took up the story and told of their narrow escape through the tunnel from the Witch's wolves, drawing more shocked gasps from their mother, but no interruption this time. "At one point, we thought she'd caught up with us, until we realized it was actually Father Christmas in the sled."

Mrs. Pevensie's brows shot up into her hairline. "Father Christmas? _The _Father Christmas? Who brings gifts during the night to good little children? You can't be serious."

Peter chuckled. "Oh it was him, all right," the older boy said. "Susan and I were a little incredulous, I think. But he even came bearing gifts. He brought a cordial that would heal any wound and a dagger for Lu, a bow and arrows that and a horn to call for help for Su and a shield and the sword of the High King for me."

Shaking her head, Mrs. Pevensie said, "There's another reference to _High King_ again, Peter," she said, looking to the blonde boy. "Are you going to explain that?"

He nodded. "I'm getting there."

Without explaining further, he pressed on. "When we reached the river, the ice was beginning to melt, and we were intercepted by the wolves." He paused, realizing his mother would be bothered by this and he decided to try and gloss over the danger. "Well, they threatened us, but then the river burst through the ice and we floated off downriver hanging onto my sword, which I had shoved into an ice chunk," he said quickly.

"You _what_!"

Mrs. Pevensie's exclamation halted Peter and he winced. "Just got taken downriver a bit, Mum. It was no big deal. It's not like we were _drowning_ or anything."

Edmund chose that moment to snort, which drew a glare from Peter. The younger boy remembered Peter trying to convince his siblings they needed to leave Narnia – by saying Lucy nearly drowned. Now he was saying the opposite.

Their mother wasn't buying it.

"You're saying a great big waterfall suddenly _burst_ through a wall of ice and came _crashing_ down on you three, yet it wasn't _dangerous_?" she asked, her voice dead calm. "I'm afraid our opinions on what _is_ dangerous do not coincide here, Peter."

He gulped. "Right, sorry, well then we got to Aslan's camp," he said, hoping she would leave it alone, and thankful when she said nothing else about the river. "And we met Aslan."

Exchanging glances with his siblings, he added, "He was more magnificent than I have words to describe. Just being in his presence was humbling. But…he's– well – he's a great, golden lion."

He cringed when their mother laughed. "A lion. Cute, Peter, dear, but _a lion_?"

"Mum," Edmund said, completely serious. "Aslan really _is_ a great lion. In Narnia, there are Talking Animals, Centaurs, gryphons, and Fauns, like Mr. Tumnus. And…well…suffice it to say, yes, Aslan is indeed a lion."

She stopped chuckling and looked sharply at Edmund waiting for him to smile and say it was all a joke. When he didn't, she shook her head and settled back. "Well, go on, what happened next?" She didn't seem convinced about Aslan, but Peter took up the story again, explaining about Jadis' claims on Edmund's blood, which had his mother gripping her younger son's hand tightly until Peter related how she had relinquished that claim later.

His voice was slightly halting as he retold how Aslan had disappeared overnight and how the next morning he and Edmund had learned of his death. Gulping, he paused before revealing the next part of their story, glancing to Ed for reassurance.

The younger boy nodded for him to go on, gripping their mother's hand with a small smile. She looked over at him in confusion, but smiled back.

Peter fiddled with the bottom cuff of his pants as he continued. "Since Aslan was gone, it fell on us to lead the army against the Witch," Peter said. "I rode at the head of our troops while Ed stayed on the cliffs with the reserves."

Mrs. Pevensie jerked her hand out of Edmund's and covered a gasp with both hands. Peter gave her some time to digest that information, waiting patiently. She turned to him. "But you were only fifteen," she said, looking like she was about to grab him and never let go. "Why would they make you do that? Why would they make you risk your life like that?"

Frowning, Peter shook his head. "They didn't make us, Mum," he said. "We agreed to do it. They needed us."

Mrs. Pevensie was staring at him as he glossed over the charge and skipped to the retreat. Her eyes felt like they were boring into him and he suddenly felt his mouth go dry as he realized the worst was yet to come for Mrs. Pevensie – Edmund's near death. Peter wasn't looking forward to relating that, but knew he had to go on.

"I told Edmund to get out and get the girls home," he said. "But you know Ed, he never listens to me…" he winced at the swat his brother tossed his way. "He saw the Witch coming for me and knew he had to do something. So he broke her wand, but…she was able to wound him."

Edmund tried not to react, but a shiver ran through him before he could stop it and Mrs. Pevensie noticed. "Wounded?" she whispered. "Ed?"

The dark-haired boy looked up at her and took a deep breath. "She stabbed me with the broken wand," he said. "I fell and don't remember much else until Lucy gave me some of her cordial and healed it."

In a swift move, he was enveloped in his mother's arms and she was shaking again. Gasping breaths warned him that she was on the verge of crying and he shushed her, patting her back awkwardly. "I'm fine, Mum," he said. "I've had sixteen years to get over it."

She jerked back at that. "What? How?"

Peter chimed in, thankful for something to distract their mother from Edmund's wound. "Time doesn't pass the same here as it does in England. We spent fifteen years here but when we went back to England, it had only been a few minutes and we were no older than when we had left," he explained. "It was quite a shock, believe me, to suddenly find yourself a child again."

He let Mrs. Pevensie absorb that information for a moment before continuing with the story. "I fought the Witch after she hurt Ed. But she was better than I was and I couldn't defeat her. It was Aslan who saved me." He trailed off when his mother started and broke in.

"But I thought he was dead," the woman countered, still not completely releasing Edmund, who didn't seem to mind her embrace and was leaning against her. "How could he have saved you, Peter?"

Frowning, Peter sighed. "It's difficult to explain, but there is a Deep Magic in Narnia," he said slowly. "The Witch didn't completely understand the consequences of her actions. She didn't know that by killing Aslan, a willing, innocent victim, in Edmund's place, the Deep Magic would turn back death. I don't claim to understand it all, but I'm very grateful for it."

The woman didn't respond to the explanation, just nodded weakly. Peter studied her face and realized that she was still in a state of mild shock. He imagined the questions would begin in earnest later on, when she wasn't reeling from being in Narnia and learning her children had been in mortal peril and she had had no idea.

"After the battle, we marched to Cair Paravel, where we'll be going soon," Peter continued. "There, we were crowned Kings and Queens of Narnia, which fulfilled the prophecy." He gestured to each of them in turn. "Queen Lucy the Valiant, King Edmund the Just, Queen Susan the Gentle and …"

"High King Peter the Magnificent!" chimed three amused voices.

Peter glared at his siblings before flashing a small smile at his mother. "What they said," he laughed. "I'm the oldest and I suppose that's why I was referred to as the High King. So, there's your explanation for that."

Mrs. Pevensie was silent as Peter finished the story of their ascension to the thrones of Narnia. Pulling away from Edmund, she let out a long huff of breath. "That's quite a story, Peter," she said quietly. "If not for the miraculous recovery I'm seeing in you, I might not believe it. But…are we in danger now?"

The oldest boy frowned again. "I don't know, Mum," he said. "I expect there is a reason for our return. We came to Narnia in the first place to help bring peace and remove the threat of Jadis. I'm not sure if we're in danger this time or not, but as soon as we find the Narnians, we'll have our answer."

Groaning as he stood and shook out a very much asleep leg, he looked in the direction of the once magnificent Cair Paravel, hoping that Caspian had had time to fulfill his promise to Peter – to rebuild the great palace. "We should probably be moving on," he said. "Not knowing how long has passed we don't want to be caught unawares, or unarmed."

He ignored the look from their mother, who had not been pleased when the word "unarmed" had left her son's mouth. Edmund came to stand beside him, and Quentin, hovering uncertainly near Mrs. Pevensie, watched as the two boys seemed to transform from school boys into adult leaders.

Edmund gestured for the girls, their mother and Quentin to follow Peter. He drew up the rear, senses on alert for the slightest danger. The six of them were silent as they picked their way through the woods, pushing aside bare branches and kicking up the layers of dead leaves on the ground.

Everyone was lost in thought, but none quite so strongly as Mrs. Pevensie, who was practically boring a hole in Peter's back with her intense gaze. She could almost imagine a golden crown on his head. Of all her children, Peter was the most obvious choice for a leader.

He had taken on the role of protector and patriarch so quickly when Mr. Pevensie had been called away to war. Perhaps a little too quickly, she had sometimes thought, as she had watched her child grow up far too fast in war-time England.

Casting a glance to her side, she took in Susan's calm and lightly smiling face and thought her oldest daughter probably had made an excellent queen. Studious, thoughtful and kind, Susan was the embodiment of what one would want in a ruler.

The cheerful Lucy on her other side was a bit more of a stretch. Mrs. Pevensie had trouble imagining a child her age in a position of power. While she knew Lucy was an extraordinary child, bright and caring, she was still just a child. How could she have been a queen?

Then there was Edmund.

She knew he'd changed from the angry boy he had been before going to the country. She had seen the change almost immediately when her son had stepped off the train after the evacuation was over.

But how had he been crowned a King of a world so soon after betraying it and his siblings? Had those he was suddenly ruling over taken it well, or had there been quarrels and mistrust? She hated to think of Edmund as anything but her perfect little boy. What mother would want to think anything different of their child?

Sighing, she returned her attention to Peter's back.

_No wonder he seems much older than sixteen at times,_ she thought to herself. _All of them seem beyond their years. Now I understand why, but it's so hard to accept that they grew up once already and I wasn't there to see any of it. I wasn't there to nurse their hurts, or to explain the way of nature to any of my children. They aren't going to need those talks, they've already lived it._

She couldn't help but feel she'd missed out on their childhoods.

She also couldn't help but feel envy of those who _had_ been there for the things that only happen once in a child's life and that you can never get back once they've passed.

For Quentin, the thoughts were decidedly more personal.

He was in Narnia, the place where Edmund and Peter had fought, nearly died, ruled over and grown up in. And he couldn't help but wonder what _he_ would be faced with in this magical land.

Would he have to pick up a sword, learn to wield it, and help defend the people of Narnia like the Pevensies had done? Would have be asked to take on a leadership role? Would he be here for years to come, away from his mother and father?

What was in store for him?

Part of him thrummed with excitement at the thought of daring adventures and noble quests. But a part of him also trembled with fear at the chance he could be badly hurt. Or even killed.

Glancing at Peter and Edmund, he wondered how they did it. Both had been grievously hurt here in Narnia, yet they both loved it without a moment's hesitation. The way they talked about Narnia just shouted out how dear it was to them – even after all they had been through here.

Could he rise to the challenge if he were called upon to do so?

He wasn't so sure that he could. But he expected, somehow, that he was about to find out.

* * *

_On the outskirts of Cair Paravel…_

Peter cast another glance toward his mother, surprised that she had remained quiet this long. Since the four of them had recounted the events leading up to their coronation, she had said nothing to any of them and appeared to be deeply lost in her own thoughts. He couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking about.

Her children facing peril in a strange land? Her youngest son nearly dying from what would have been a fatal stab wound in England? Her youngest daughter nearly being kidnapped and turned over to a tyrant?

"Peter?"

The older boy's head snapped up and toward his mother at the sound of her voice. "Yes, Mum?"

Fidgeting, which was unusual for her, Mrs. Pevensie frowned. "You were all so young when you were thrust onto thrones. How did you manage it? It's not like they teach you how to be Kings and Queens in school."

Behind him, he heard Edmund snort and Lucy chuckle.

"Well," the boy said slowly. "It wasn't always easy. There were times, especially at the start of our reign, when I felt like throwing in the towel and trying to find that old wardrobe back to England." He furrowed his brows in thought for a moment before turning to his mother. "There is one time that sticks out in my mind, when we had to negotiate with a delegation from Ettinsmoor, which was very near the Witch's castle. They had fought alongside her, mostly out of necessity, and wanted to ally themselves with Narnia. But there was some resistance to us."

_Peter, sitting on his throne, eyed the approaching delegates with trepidation. _

_The last time he had been face-to-face with a minotaur had been on the battlefield at Beruna, just before Edmund had been taken down by the White Witch's jagged wand. Now, one was approaching flanked by a giant and a dwarf – a delegation from Ettinsmoor, which stood to the east of where Jadis had ruled over Narnia._

_Now, one had come to seek an alliance with the new Narnian monarchs._

_From where they sat, Susan, Lucy and Edmund watched as the minotaur locked eyes on each of them in turn and his eyes shone with disbelief. Coming to a stop in front of Peter's throne, before the dais, the creature didn't even bow before speaking. "Why are there children sitting on Narnia's thrones? Where are the monarchs? I do not have time for games. I have traveled far to seek this alliance."_

_Frowning, Peter straightened in his throne._

"_You are addressing Narnia's monarchs," he said, keeping all trace of fear from his voice. "I am High King Peter, these are my royal sisters, Queen Lucy the Valiant and Queen Susan the Gentle, and my royal brother, King Edmund the Just. We have granted you audience to speak of your wish for an alliance."_

_He heard the minotaur snort – actually snort – and his frown deepened._

_Behind the delegation, Oreius stood at the ready. If any of the three so much as _twitched_ in the direction of a concealed weapon, Peter was certain the centaur general would have them down on the ground in seconds. The centaur locked eyes with the young man for a moment, silently lending him support._

"_Children? On the thrones of Narnia? What mockery is this?"_

_Edmund fidgeted on his throne and Peter cast a quick warning glare in his direction before turning back to the minotaur._

"_Whether we are children or not has no bearing on these proceedings," he said. "If you wish to ally yourself with Narnia, you would do well to show a little respect. We will gladly hear your requests now."_

_Seeing that they weren't kidding, the minotaur drew himself up to his full height and took a short step forward, bringing him closer to the thrones, but not close enough to be on the steps leading to the dais. Oreius twitched in the corner, but didn't move any closer. _

"_Well then, as the chosen delegates from Ettinsmoor, I, Arglak; Benkrin, the dwarf; and Cespang, the giant, come before you as equals and ask that we form an alliance of protection and of trade," the tall creature said resolutely. "We ask that we could call upon Narnia in times of distress and that we be afforded hunting rights on lands that border our own. We would otherwise leave you alone, and you otherwise would leave us alone."_

_There was dead silence in the throne room following his words._

_Peter glanced to Susan, then Lucy and finally to Edmund before turning back to the minotaur._

"_Good Arglak," he said slowly. "I do not believe you fully comprehend the chain of authority in Narnia. Aslan, as He has always been, is the King over all Kings in Narnia. After that, I, as High King, rule over all countries within Narnia's boundaries, with my sisters and brother beside and supporting me. The rulers of lands within Narnia, such as Archenland, fall under our authority. Ettinsmoor would be no different. We would not be equals."_

_If the minotaur had seemed angry about young monarchs, he was positively incensed by the same monarchs having authority over him._

"_That is not acceptable," he seethed, stepping forward. "I will not be ruled over by a child."_

_Seeing the minotaur drawing closer, Peter stood in case he should try something Rhindon was sheathed and hanging from the back of his throne, within easy reach, although Peter kept himself from reaching for it, not wanting to appear hostile._

_Oreius took a step forward. "You will stand back from the dais." He raised his drawn sword a little higher, but didn't point it at the minotaur. _

_Edmund stood, moving beside Peter. Susan and Lucy followed suit – the four Narnian rulers seeming taller when together._

"_Whether you like it or not, good Arglak, that is the way of things in Narnia," Peter said firmly. "We were enthroned by Aslan himself, and per his rule, we have authority over Narnia and her lands. Do I take it you do not wish to continue this discussion?"_

_Stepping back under Oreius' gaze, the minotaur glared at Peter. "I will not bow down to you."_

_He turned and stormed from the chamber. Oreius nodded to a nearby Faun, who immediately spun on his hoof and hurried from the throne room. The Faun would make sure the minotaur left Cair Paravel._

_Peter turned his attention to the dwarf and the giant._

"_Do you share Arglak's opinion on the matter?"_

_The two exchanged glances. "I do not, King Peter," the dwarf said. "I don't like you. But I will obey your commands if only to get what I need for my dwarves. I wish to continue the discussion." _

_The giant was frowning and looked like he wanted to scratch his head, perhaps in confusion, but Peter couldn't tell. "We need food," the giant finally said. "I represent a faction of giants, but not all of them. I will talk with you, King of Narnia."_

_Nodding, Peter returned to his throne, taking a seat and gesturing for a chair to be brought for Benkrin as his siblings reclaimed their own thrones. Unfortunately, there was no chair in Cair Paravel that could hold Cespang, but the giant seemed to understand and slowly sat down on the floor. "Then we shall sit and speak," he said._

Mrs. Pevensie, who had listened to the story with rapt attention, shook her head. "You never had that cool of a temper at home, Peter," she said, looking over at him. "Did a crown on your head really change you that much?"

Slowing, Peter thought about it for a moment. Why _had_ he acted so differently? In England, it hadn't taken much for him to blow up at Edmund or yell when he felt threatened. But in Narnia, as King, he hadn't done so. "I suppose so, Mum," he said. "We had so many lives in our hands and I guess it made me realize I couldn't act the way I had at home. If I'd have started yelling at him like an angry little boy it would have made matters worse."

"We didn't always have it easy," Edmund said from behind them all. "That wasn't the only time someone wasn't thrilled with our ages, though it was the only time that someone walked away and never came back to the table. We had trouble with Ettinsmoor and the remnants of the Witch's army for many years. The giants who weren't allied with Cespang were also a big problem." Peter's shiver didn't go unnoticed by any of them, though none of them called him on it. "But in the end, we prevailed. Even if we had to use a show of force or thwart rebellions."

He stopped speaking at a hard glare from Peter and realized he'd just essentially told their mother that they had done _more_ fighting. Frowning, he was glad when she didn't call him on it. But she _did_ narrow her eyes and glare at Peter, who withered under the intense stare.

Susan patted her mother's hand and took attention away from her brothers. "We had tutors, Mum," the young woman said. "We learned diplomacy, royal protocol, and how to sit in judgment, among other things. It really helped us learn how to negotiate and determine what was best for all those involved." Glancing at the rapidly lowering sun, she shook her head. "We best keep going. It'll be nightfall soon."

Mrs. Pevensie nodded and let Peter once again draw ahead of her.

It was hard to do.

She expected it was never easy for a parent to let go of their child and let them take the lead.

* * *

A young, dark-haired man with a heavy crown perched on his head paced from one side of the dais to the other, pivoting at each end sharply and shaking his head in exasperation.

"What if it didn't work? What if he kills her because it didn't work?

Beyond the dais a grey-haired man watched the young monarch's pacing with a frown. "You must be patient, my liege," Duke Cornelius urged. "You only called them a few hours ago and last time they didn't arrive immediately either. There is no reason to believe it hasn't worked."

Spinning on his heel at the end of the dais again, King Caspian the Tenth looked over at the only filled chair in the throne room – currently occupied by a strangely silent and shivering Lord Glozelle.

Realizing he was being selfish, Caspian stepped down from the dais and moved in front of the man's seat, kneeling down to put the two on the same level.

Glozelle's red-rimmed eyes cast upward to meet Caspian's, also rimmed in red. The latter spoke gently. "We'll find her," Caspian whispered. "It was wrong of me to despair so soon. The Kings and Queens will come to Narnia's aid once more; we have to hold to that."

Swallowing around a large lump in his throat, Glozelle nodded mutely. He clasped Caspian's hand in his own and then glanced past the young King toward the throne room door where Trumpkin had just entered.

"My liege," the dwarf called out, panting from what must have been a mad dash to reach the room and then bowing when Caspian acknowledged him. "We have received word from Karis, my King. Another message sent by carrier bird." He held a crisp white parchment in his hands, gripping the paper so tightly it was crinkled beneath his fingertips.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the two men as Caspian hurriedly rose and snatched the parchment from Trumpkin's hands. "Thank you, my friend," the King said, unfolding the message with no small amount of trepidation.

Reading aloud, he spoke loudly enough for those assembled to hear. "False King, if you have not delivered the usurping Narnian rulers by noon two days hence, you shall receive a most disturbing package – a betrothed long passed from the world of the living. Do not attempt to rescue her, for you have no hope of doing so; we are where you cannot pass." He shakily looked up. "It's signed Karis, the True King of Narnia."

From the throne room entrance, Lord Glenstorm and Trufflehunter stepped forward, having heard the message recounted. Neither spoke a word as the young King stared at the paper, eyes boring into it as if he could destroy it and render its message untrue simply by looking at it.

Finally, he ripped his gaze away. "Glenstorm, would you be so kind as to send out another search party?" he said to the centaur lord. "We _must _find the Kings and Queens and get them here. My betrothed's life depends on it. The future of Narnia as well."

The Narnian nodded and bowed, then turned and hurried from the room, his hooves clipping loudly through the stone corridors. When he was gone, Caspian sank into the nearest chair and his head fell into his hands.

Quietly, he whispered, "Miriam."

There was silence as the King and his companions waited anxiously for the arrival of the four monarchs of legend – their friends – and worried for the life of their young, soon-to-be Queen.

_A/N: Well, what do you think? Still in the dark, I know, but I'll get to the conflict soon. Please, please, read and review!!!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: __**Finally**__, chapter two. I'm sorry it's taking a while, but like I said, this is a completely AU plot, so some thought has to go into it to make it work! There is some canon in here, about Charn and Jadis. I've added to it to fit my story. Hope you enjoy it!!! _

**Part Two: **

As the sun fell lower in the sky, the Pevensies and Quentin noticed the trees beginning to thin out, signaling their proximity to the beach and Cair Paravel. Peter alone knew there was a chance the great castle had been rebuilt – but he didn't mention it to his family for fear of raising their hopes and then having them dashed if Caspian hadn't begun construction.

He heard a mumbled curse and then a sheepishly muttered apology. He craned his head around to find Quentin standing on one foot and rubbing his right ankle with a sour grimace on his face.

"Are you all right?" the blonde boy said, moving back a few paces and putting a steadying hand on Quentin's shoulder. The other boy mumbled something under his breath before looking up at Peter with a frown.

"I keep stumbling," he said. "Not really sure why. But I'm fine, just a little turned I think. I can keep going." He settled his foot on the ground and put a little weight on it, wrinkling his nose a bit but not in too much pain, it seemed. He firmed his expression when Peter looked ready to argue. "Pete, _go_. I'm not a baby."

Raising his hands in surrender, Peter nodded with a small grin. "Sorry, force of habit!" he said. "I'm used to be being the oldest and trying to take care of the others. It'll take me a little while to get used to having someone my age – and someone older – with me."

Quentin nodded in understanding and glanced over Peter's shoulder as Mrs. Pevensie drew abreast of the two boys. "Is everything all right here?" she asked, eying Quentin leaning slightly to his left.

When both boys nodded, she frowned but didn't argue.

Peter nudged Quentin and the two boys moved off again.

Drawing closer to his friend, Quentin glanced up at the sky. "Do you think we'll get to this place before dark? Because I think next time I trip, I'm going to break something."

The other boy chuckled. "I'll catch you," he said. "But, given that the leaves are falling, I think it's safe to assume that it's autumn, and the sun usually set earlier during the autumn and winter months, so there's a good chance we'll be walking in the dark."

Pointing, he added. "But the trees are thinning, which means we're closer to the coast. Cair Paravel was on a cliff overlooking the sea and the beach. When we get out of the woods, we should see it."

He sensed another presence drawing near and turned to see Lucy on his other side. "Peter?" she said. "You told us Cair Paravel was destroyed, when you and Caspian came back. What good will it be going there now?"

Sighing, Peter put a hand on Lucy's shoulder. "Well, Lu, the treasure chamber was well hidden and it should be a good place for us to seek shelter until we know what's going on. At least it will be better than a cave in the woods."

Nodding, Lucy dropped back and he could hear her speaking to Edmund, Susan and their mother. Chuckling, he turned to Quentin. "So, what do you think of Narnia so far, Quen?"

His friend looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Woodsy."

* * *

_On the beach…_

Glenstorm drew alongside Healer Tumnus. "We have half an hour left of daylight," he said with a heavy sigh. "Why don't we try entering the woods just there and moving inland a little? I know we've been focusing on the beach, where King Caspian blew the horn, but that doesn't mean the Kings and Queens will have arrived _on _the beach."

The Faun echoed the sigh. "I suppose it would be best."

He turned to the two leopards and three talking dogs accompanying himself and the Centaur and gestured to the nearby trees. "We'll be searching there next," he said. "The general and I will be along in a moment. Call if you find anything, anything at all."

When the five had moved into the woods, Tumnus turned his gaze back to Glenstorm. The Centaur was looking toward the sea, a forlorn expression on his face. An expression that was unusual for the general.

"Do you think they have come?" the Centaur suddenly asked, turning away from the water and meeting Tumnus' eyes.

Without hesitation, the Faun nodded. "They have. They wouldn't ignore the call. We just have to find them." He turned toward the woods. "Come, let's continue while we still have the light, General."

They entered the woods in the direction the leopards and dogs had gone.

A sudden low howl drew their attention, and exchanging glances, they hurried off to find the dog that had sounded it. Strangely silent for a Centaur and a Faun, they reached the dog and he turned to them.

"I hear something," the dog said quietly. "It's about a hundred or so paces deeper and sounds like six beings. They are two-legged. It could be another raiding party sent by Karis, but I cannot tell."

Glenstorm's eyes narrowed. "I shall take the leopards and move in," he said, turning to Tumnus. "You remain here with the dogs. I don't want you to engage them if they _are_ Karis' men." The Centaur drew his sword and motioned for the leopards to move first.

As he disappeared into the woods, Tumnus turned to the dogs. "Let's hope this time, it is the Kings and Queens," he whispered. Turning his gaze back to the forest, he waited for the sounds of battle – or the all clear.

* * *

The sun had fallen very low and the Pevensies and Quentin were hard pressed not to stumble and fall. Already, Peter was regretting taking so long to recount the story of their first foray in Narnia. If they'd started out instead, they might _be_ at Cair Paravel already and not stumbling around in the dark.

He could hear muttered yelps when someone behind him tripped, and he himself had already nearly tumbled to the ground when his foot snagged on a protruding root. Peter had half a mind to call a halt and have them sleep here, but he wanted to get out of the open, just in case.

A hand on his arm slowed him down and he could barely make out his mother's face beside him. "Peter," she said, voice rough from fatigue. "How much further? We've been walking a long time and everyone's tired. Someone's going to fall and get hurt if we keep moving."

The blonde was about to reply when there was a rustling up ahead and he drew to a sharp halt, frowning deeply when Quentin bowled into him from behind. Lucy and Susan were halted by Edmund before they could plow the others over.

"Peter?" Edmund whispered. "Did you hear that?"

The other boy nodded before realizing his brother probably couldn't see him. "Yeah," he whispered. "It's coming from up ahead." Turning slightly, he pried Mrs. Pevensie's hand from his arm. "Stay here," he said. "Ed, come on."

Stepping around Lucy and Quentin, Edmund drew alongside Peter.

They were halted when their mother's shaky voice erupted from the darkness behind them. "Boys, no!" she called out, taking a step toward them and stumbling in her haste. Only a quick move by Quentin stopped her from taking a nasty spill.

The distraction cost them.

"Don't move!"

Peter and Edmund froze, backs turned toward the voice.

"Get your arms up where I can see them. Slowly. No swift moves."

All six did as they were told. Peter knew that voice from somewhere. But where? Who was it?

"Turn around, very slowly," the voice ordered, and they did so, making no sudden movements.

There was more rustling and he could make out a large figure flanked by two smaller ones. All three beings sported four legs. The tallest held a sword, stretched out in front and pointed directly at Peter, who the beings must have determined to be the leader, even though they could barely see.

"Who are you?" came the same voice.

Peter swallowed, eying the sword. "My name is Peter," he said. "To whom am I speaking?"

There was a small jerk from the being in front of him. The sword directed at Peter waivered. "Peter, you say," the being said, voice no longer hostile, but still somewhat wary. The voice was still oddly familiar to the Pevensies, who just couldn't place it. "What business do you have near Cair Paravel?"

"We mean the Narnians no harm," Peter said. "I ask again, to whom I am speaking?"

There was a distinct sound of a frustrated stomp and Peter had it.

"Glenstorm?"

The sword fell completely. "High King Peter?"

Peter nodded, but then rolled his eyes and said, "Yes. It is a relief to see you. Or rather, _hear_ you, since I can't _see_ a blasted thing."

The Centaur laughed and whistled, the shrill sound breaking the silence of the night. "Are your royal brother and sisters with you?" he asked. "And others? Kestran the Talking Dog reported hearing six beings approach."

Realizing there was no danger, the others in Peter's party relaxed and the High King sighed. "Queens Susan and Lucy and King Edmund are here as well," he said. "As is our mother, Helen, and my good friend, Quentin."

From the woods behind Glenstorm, a light erupted from a freshly lit torch and Peter could start to make out the beings next to them. He knew the others could make them out as well when there were suddenly twin gasps from behind and beside him.

"My _word_!" cried Mrs. Pevensie and she moved back quickly, so that when she fell, she propelled Quentin to the ground with her, since he had still been holding onto her from when he'd caught her. "What…what…Peter?"

Lowering himself down, and placing himself in front of her and between her and the Centaur, he calmly spoke. "Mum, it's all right," he said. "This is an old friend, Glenstorm. He's a Centaur." He looked over his shoulder and silently asked the general to back away, which the Centaur did with a short nod.

Quentin was staring unabashedly at the Centaur general, but appeared to be calm.

Mrs. Pevensie watched warily as Edmund and the girls moved forward and exchanged greetings with Glenstorm. Her eyes widened when Lucy suddenly squealed. "Healer Tumnus!" and erupted forward to draw the surprised Faun into an embrace. "It's so good to see you!"

The Faun smiled broadly. "And you as well, Queen Lucy!" He extended his gaze to the others. "All of you," he added. "We have been searching for you since King Caspian sounded the Queen's horn."

Peter frowned. "So we were called," he muttered, drawing the Faun's attention firmly to him. "What's happened, Healer Tumnus?"

Glenstorm broke in. "With respect, Your Majesty, there is time enough to explain when we reach Cair Paravel," he said. "You all look fatigued. Perhaps we'd best press on to the castle."

Susan's head tipped to the side. "What do you mean? Cair Paravel was destroyed."

Tumnus chuckled. "It has been rebuilt, my Queen," he said. "Surely you knew of Caspian's promise to do so?"

All eyes turned on a sheepish Peter, who raised his hands. "I'm sorry!" he said. "I didn't want to get your hopes up! I didn't know how much time had passed or whether Caspian had had a chance to rebuild." He turned to his siblings. "I should have told you. I'm sorry."

Edmund smiled suddenly. "Well, you had our best interests in mind, Peter," the younger boy said. "I suppose we could forgive you. But no more withholding information, if you please."

Turning his attention back to their mother and Quentin, he stood back up slowly, drawing the woman up with him and keeping a hold on her arm as he moved her forward. "Mum," he said. "You have nothing to fear from Glenstorm. He'll not hurt you. He's a Centaur. The leopards and dogs are friendly." He turned and gestured to Tumnus. "Healer Tumnus is an old friend as well. He's a Faun."

With a weak smile, Mrs. Pevensie extended her hand to Glenstorm. The Centaur looked at it in confusion. Lucy and Peter chuckled and the woman frowned and moved her hand back slightly. "What am I doing wrong?"

Lucy's chuckle turned into a laugh. "Oh, Mum," she said. "Narnians don't shake hands like we do. The first one I met didn't know what to do with it either."

Glenstorm smiled suddenly and slowly gripped the woman's hand and gave it a small shake. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Royal Mother," he said, faltering slightly on the name as he was uncertain what to call her.

Peter chuckled. "I agree with Glenstorm," he said. "We should get to Cair Paravel as quickly as possible."

He had noticed the Centaur's wary gaze at the forest around them and he wondered at it. It took a lot to worry the Centaur general, he knew from experience, so whatever it was that had precipitated their return to Narnia must be serious.

Tumnus gestured in the direction he had come. "Yes, we best get moving. We don't want to run into any of Karis' followers," he said.

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Karis? I've not heard of this person."

Glenstorm sighed. "I think, King Peter, that is something for King Caspian to explain to you," he said. "Come." He gestured for the leopards and dogs to flank the six humans and the now much larger group set off by torchlight.

In only a few minutes, they emerged from the tree line and Peter slowed to a halt. Standing erect and brightly lit above the rolling waves of the sea was a sight he had never thought he would see again.

Cair Paravel – just as he remembered it.

Even in the dark, he could tell the rebuilding must have been as true to the original as possible. He could make out the light erupting from the throne room through the glass roof, and spilling out on the balconies from numerous still lit state rooms and the library.

"It's magnificent…" Lucy whispered. "Just like I remember."

Edmund and Susan stared at what looked like their home of fifteen years and said nothing. Mrs. Pevensie and Quentin, feeling very much like outsiders, exchanged their own glances and admired what they could see of the castle.

"My Kings and Queens," Tumnus said. "We should get out of the open. I assure you, the castle is much more impressive from the inside."

Peter chuckled. "I am certain it is, Tumnus," the young monarch said with a shake of his head. "If it's anything like it was when we ruled, it will be a sight to behold." He put a comforting hand on his mother's arm and one on Quentin's shoulder. "Welcome to Cair Paravel. I had hoped it would be rebuilt so that you two could see it."

The group moved on and Glenstorm sent a talking dog ahead to announce their arrival.

As they followed the winding path up from the beach, Peter could make out shouts of joy and hasty orders. He couldn't hear _what_ was being said, only that something _was _being said.

After a few small stumbles and wobbles along the sharp path, the group alighted on a balcony off the throne room and Quentin stopped short at the sight. There were Centaurs, men, Fauns, all kinds of animals and dwarves lining the sides of the great room.

The Pevensies were pleased to see that the throne room was almost exactly as they remembered it, but they all noticed one difference immediately. At the head of the room, on a dais were five thrones. Four were white marble inlaid with gold, set slightly behind and higher than the fifth, which was made of sturdy wood with a large coat of arms emblazoned on the back. The Pevensie siblings recognized the four thrones of old and the Telmarine throne and exchanged smiles.

"Thank goodness you are here!"

An accented voice erupted from a fast approaching figure with a crown perched on his head. He nearly skidded to a halt in front of the Pevensie youths in a most undignified manner, but didn't seem to care one wit for appearances.

"Caspian!" Peter said, immediately stepping forward and clasping the young King's arm in a greeting.

The young King turned to the others and nodded a greeting before noticing two people he had not met and he turned a questioning gaze to Peter. The High King smiled and gestured toward the woman with dark hair. "May I present Helen Pevensie, our mother," he said.

Caspian stepped toward the woman and in full, courtly fashion, bowed, clasped her hand and lightly kissed it, drawing a blush from the woman and a small chuckle from her children.

Peter pointed next to his friend. "This is my good friend, Quentin Connors," he said, watching Quentin's eyes widen as he was greeted in the same fashion as Peter had just been.

Without wasting another moment, Caspian spun around sharply, nearly dislodging his crown from his head, and addressed Peter. "We have a problem," he said slowly. "There is much to tell you, but perhaps you wish to freshen up and change before we do so?" He turned to a servant hovering beside him. "Arrange to have some food brought to the library, Casta, quickly."

Returning his gaze to Peter, he added, "I will meet you in the library, there are few things I need to gather before we talk," he said. "Tumnus can lead you to quarters."

The young man disappeared nearly as fast as he'd come and Peter found it strange that he hadn't smiled once. Whatever had happened here had greatly impacted Caspian and he found himself wondering even more what was going on.

Stepping forward, Tumnus gestured for the Pevensies and Quentin to follow.

As they wound their way through the halls, Peter and his brother and sisters were shocked to note that Cair Paravel was nearly identical to what they had remembered and they were walking rapidly toward where their quarters had been during the Golden Age.

"How did they get it so _perfect_?" Susan muttered under her breath.

Tumnus heard her. "It was my ancestor, in part, who left detailed paintings and drawings in the treasure chamber that King Peter and King Caspian found," he said. "Stories and documents handed down through Trufflehunter's family completed the picture for the architects. In addition, it turns out that the Telmarines had looted many of the tapestries, furniture, and artwork when the siege ended and were storing them at their castle. Those were brought back to Cair Paravel when the construction was finished."

Lucy was trying to take in everything as they walked and was swinging her head from one side to the other. Edmund and Susan were following suit. Peter was no less impressed with the work, since he had seen the devastation the Telmarine siege had wrought on the castle.

Tumnus slowed to a halt outside an open doorway.

"My Queens, Royal Mother," he said, bowing. "You will find garments in the wardrobe and water and soap in the washroom. If you cannot find things to fit any of you, please let the chambermaid know. Call for Marta."

Lucy and Susan nodded to his bow, and Helen inclined her head when he looked to her. She looked up at Peter and Edmund now. "Will you be far?" she asked, her voice steady, but her eyes showing uncertainty. She didn't want to let them out of her sight.

Edmund smiled. "We'll be just down the hall, I expect," he said, looking to Tumnus for confirmation. The Faun nodded again. "We'll come collect you when we're finished. We never took as long as Su and Lu getting dressed."

The girls snorted. "Right, Ed," Susan said with a smile. "I seem to recall a time when you two nearly missed a state dinner because neither of you could find your crowns…"

The boys' eyes widened. "We'd best be going now!" Peter suddenly called out, grabbing Edmund and Quentin by the arms and dragging them away before Susan could go any further with the story.

He gulped when he heard his mother's voice. "Well, I should very much like to hear that story, Susan, dear," she said with a small chuckle. Their voices faded away as Peter, Edmund and Quentin followed Tumnus down the corridor to another room.

"My Kings, Royal Friend, you may use these quarters. I expect there is something suitable for you all inside," he said. "You're all close in size to King Caspian." Even Edmund, who had grown a few inches since their return, was nearing the Telmarine's height.

Thanking Tumnus, who promised to fetch them in half an hour, the boys turned and entered the room. Quentin whistled at the opulence. There were silken covers on the beds in a deep scarlet and drapes around them in a rich, midnight blue.

Plush armchairs sat next to a small table in one corner and a large set of doors opened into a massive wardrobe. Peter would have wondered for a moment if this was actually Caspian's quarters, since guest quarters wouldn't need nearly that many clothes, if it wasn't for the second bed.

"Wow," Quentin breathed. "Is _this_ the way it was when you lived here?"

Peter nodded with a broad smile. "Yes," he said. "I remember the first time we saw our clothes and had to figure out what went with what. But don't worry, you have us to help you."

The other boy laughed as Peter dragged him into the washroom and the boys stripped down to boxers. Quentin paused when Peter and Edmund both revealed old scars from Narnia that he hadn't seen before, and the scar Quentin assumed Peter had received in Greece. He cringed inwardly.

Again, he was struck by how much they had been through here and wondered at how they could still love it enough to be ecstatic at their return. If _he'd_ nearly died in a magical land, would he _really_ want to come back and face danger again?

Maybe he wasn't cut from the same cloth as Peter and Edmund.

Something told him, again, that he'd find out.

He was shaken from his reverie when Peter thrust a pile of clothing at him and he had to scramble to gather it all in his arms. The top piece was a soft, pale blue velvet tunic. Under it was a light-weight navy-blue long-sleeved undershirt and navy-blue leggings. He frowned at the latter.

"I have to wear _tights_?" he asked incredulously. "Pete, tell me you're joking."

The blonde burst out laughing and Edmund actually dropped the pile of silver and black clothing he was holding to clutch at his stomach as he tottered around laughing. Quentin stared at them, one hand holding the clothes and the other on his hip.

"_What_?" he said. "They're _tights_. Doesn't that _bother_ you in the least?"

When Peter regained his breath, he moved to Quentin's side carrying his own pile of clothing in red and black. "Oh, Quen," he said, wiping tears of laughter away. "Yes, you have to wear the leggings. But don't worry, you won't be the only one. It's _normal_ here, and they are quite comfortable."

Between instructions from Peter and Edmund, Quentin was soon dressed in the Narnian clothes – though he still appeared to be most uncomfortable with the leggings and kept tugging downward on the hem of the tunic and trying to adjust the black leather belt that Edmund had told him to put on top of the tunic.

He looked up when Peter slapped his hand away and found the other boy had changed as well. Wearing black leggings and a black undershirt with a scarlet velvet tunic, along with a black leather belt fastened over the top of the tunic, and a pair of knee-high black-dyed boots, he looked every inch the King he'd spoken of being, sans crown.

Edmund came up beside him dressed in dark grey leggings and undershirt and a silver tunic, with a belt and boots to match Peter's. It contrasted sharply with his dark hair and eyes. Staring at his friends, Quentin had no trouble picturing them holding court as Kings.

"Wow," he said quietly. "You guys…wow."

Peter smiled knowingly. "We look the part, huh?" he asked, holding out a pair of low black boots to his friend.

Quentin only nodded as he struggled into the boots, which actually fit him perfectly, but he yelped when Edmund dragged him forward and thrust him in front of a mirror. "So do you, now," the younger boy said with a small chuckle, watching Quentin's eyes widen as he took in his own reflection and the blue tunic he was wearing.

"Wow."

The three boys laughed as they left the chambers and went in search of the girls.

* * *

Helen had never had a lot of money, so the room she followed her daughters into was beyond even her wildest dreams. It was like walking into a fairytale – which she supposed she _had_ done, in a way – and she paused in the doorway with wide eyes.

Susan noticed first that she hadn't stepped into the room and turned around with a frown. "Mum, are you all right?" she asked, moving back a few paces to come to the woman's side. "The washroom is through there." She pointed off to another doorway.

Mrs. Pevensie turned her gaze to Susan and let out a shaky breath.

"I've never seen such rich trappings," she said. "When I was a little girl, I used to imagine what it would be like to be a princess." She looked on her daughters. "I never imagined my girls would be Queens. Or my boys, Kings."

There were the first signs of tears in her eyes, and Susan drew the woman into a hug, Lucy adding her own small arms to the mix a moment later. "You'll get to live a little of that dream, Mum," the older girl whispered, drawing back. "When Lucy and I first changed into Narnian dresses, we wanted to bring some home for you. It was the first thought we had, believe it or not."

Lucy nodded. "I wanted to gather a whole trunk full," the younger girl said with a laugh. "But now, we have a whole _wardrobe_ full to choose from. Come on, let's princess you up, Mum!"

The woman chuckled as Lucy practically dragged her toward the wardrobe doors adjacent to the washroom. "We'll find something your size, then you can wash up," Lucy continued, chattering away about all the rich fabrics they had worn during their reign and the gowns for special occasions, as Susan quickly selected a dress and disappeared into the washroom.

Helen listened with a smile on her face, watching Lucy pick through the racks in front of them with a practiced hand. It was unnerving to see her eleven-year-old eye her and then pick a dress that looked to be the perfect size.

The gown she chose had a beautiful scarlet velvet bodice and skirt, with black sleeves that hung beyond the wearer's hands, and was completed by soft slipper-like shoes. Helen held the garment reverently in one hand and then looked to her youngest daughter. "I can't wear this," she said in a whisper. "It's far too elegant."

She was startled when Susan emerged from the washroom and entered the wardrobe, a dark green dress with light green silken sleeves draped perfectly on her body – as if she was born to wear such attire.

"It's no such thing, Mum," Susan said, taking the dress from the woman and steering her into the washroom. "You just scrub up and I'll get Lu into her dress and we'll help you when you're ready." She set the dress on the dressing table and gently closed the door behind her, leaving the woman alone with her thoughts and a gown she couldn't have afforded in England even if she worked three jobs.

Looking into the mirror, she frowned. Staring back at her was a middle-aged woman with dark hair and eyes, similar to her daughters and youngest son. There were age lines on the face and strands of grey in her hair, but for all that, she was still vibrant – somehow.

At the moment, she was also overwhelmed and it showed in her slightly too-bright eyes. With a quiet sigh, she used the cloths set out and the basin of fresh water and proceeded to remove the dirt from herself.

She combed out her tangled hair and wrestled with a few stray bits of leaves before pinning half of it up and turning her attention to the dress on the table beside her. Letting the soft scarlet fabric run through her fingers, she couldn't help a small smile.

Drawing it over her head, she let it fall with a soft whoosh to the ground near her feet and marveled at the softness. Looking back up at the mirror, she gasped. Just the dress and the combed hair made her look years younger.

"Mum?" came an uncertain voice from behind the door. Susan. "Are you ready?"

Grasping the back of the dress, which would need to be tied, she turned around and opened the door to find Susan and Lucy practically ready to fall through it, they were so close.

Lucy's jaw dropped and Susan's eyes widened. "You look…Mum…wow," Lucy stuttered.

Susan came forward and wordlessly tied the back of the dress. When she came back around front, she was strangely silent and Helen cocked her head to the side, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders.

"Su?" She said quietly. "Are you all right?"

The young woman nodded. "I'm just so happy, Mum," she said. "You look beautiful in that and I admit, when we first came to Narnia and after we were crowned, I often wondered what it would be like to have you here. You and … and Dad."

Silence fell over the girls and their mother as they thought of Henry Pevensie.

Finally, Lucy spoke quietly. "I think he'd think you looked brilliant, Mum," she said. "And he'd want to marry you all over again."

The woman chuckled and drew her youngest daughter into a tight embrace before extending an arm and pulling her older child into her grip as well. "I'm sure he would," she said. "He would be proud of you. All four of you."

Helen, Susan and Lucy broke apart as a knock came from the door to the chamber and Edmund's disembodied voice called out, "Hello!? Are you all ready in there? We've been waiting for _ages_ out here!"

The girls and the woman could hear laughter and a smack and knew that Peter was probably laughingly chiding Edmund for his jest. With a smile, Lucy - who was dressed in a pale lavender gown - pulled open the door and greeted her brothers and Quentin.

When Peter and Edmund entered the room, Helen found herself staring at the boys in shock. Her oldest was dressed to match her, in scarlet and black. And in the flickering light, Edmund's silver tunic seemed to shift shades subtly from light to dark.

"Wow…" Edmund said, halting abruptly just inside the doorway. "Mum! You look great!"

Peter stared, speechless. He couldn't believe the difference a dress had made in his mother and he smiled broadly at the youth in her features that it seemed to bring out. Narnia, he hoped, would be good for her.

"You look uncomfortable, Quentin," Susan said suddenly, catching sight of the boy behind her brothers. "You'll get used to it soon enough." She took his arm and linked her own through it, pulling him out the door to where Tumnus was waiting with a small smile. "When Peter and Ed first put on _their_ coronation clothes, they were just as uncomfortable…"

Peter, Edmund, Lucy and Helen watched as Susan and Quentin walked side-by-side down the corridor. Exchanging raised eyebrow glances, Peter and Ed couldn't hold in the chuckles.

Lucy stuck out her tongue. "Ugh…tell me they aren't going to start _liking_ liking each other," she said, feigning disgust. "I can only take so much!"

Helen smiled gently at the two down the hall. "I think it's sweet."

Peter and Edmund looked at her in surprise. Lucy's jaw dropped.

"What?" Helen said, shrugging. "They'd make a cute couple. Quentin is a darling boy. But, shouldn't we be following them? Or we might not find our way to that library."

Setting off at a fast clip, the four soon caught up to the other two and Peter and Edmund frowned at the broad smile on Quentin's face when he turned back and looked at them. The frowns deepened when Quen and Su looked at each other and burst into laughter.

"All right," Peter said, adopting his sternest High King voice. "What have you been telling him, Queen Susan?"

The laughter increased before Susan turned to her brother with a smile.

"Nothing but the truth, High King Peter," she said with a smirk. "Nothing but the truth."

* * *

_Library_…

Caspian had taken to pacing.

Again.

Watching his progress were Trumpkin, Glenstorm, Glozelle and Cornelius – his closest advisors and friends. Trufflehunter was in the book stacks, hoping to find more information on this Karis fellow, like he'd been doing since they had received the first ransom note and come up with a plausible explanation of his identity.

Commotion and laughter at the doorway announced the arrival of the Kings and Queens and their friends. Caspian arched an eyebrow at the annoyed frown on King Peter's face and the joyful one on Queen Susan's. He didn't want to know what that was all about…

"I hope you are more comfortable," he said diplomatically, gesturing for the seven newcomers to take a seat and waiting while they each poured themselves something to drink and took a small sampling of the food that had been sent up. "I know you are likely tired, but I should like to give you an idea of why you have been called."

Sitting somewhat more heavily than a King should, he looked over his old friends and noted how they had changed hardly at all and briefly wondered how long it had been in their world before he shook the thoughts from his head and focused on the task at hand.

"A week ago, my betrothed, Lady Miriam, whom I'm sure you remember from your last visit, was kidnapped," he said, wasting no time in getting right to the point. Caspian paused as the four monarchs gasped and exchanged glances before he continued. "Normally, this would not be an issue for which I would summon you. But there is more to it than a simple kidnapping."

From his seat, Dr. Cornelius spoke. "We have learned a little about her kidnapper, this Karis fellow, from some of his followers, whom we captured the night that Lady Miriam was kidnapped," the grey-haired man said. "The men made mention of a land called Charn…" the man paused when the four Pevensies tensed, but continued quickly. "Our research has revealed a prince of Charn named Karis, and we believe that our man is that prince -- born in Charn and somehow taken to a land called Belloss by his mother, who wished to protect him as their world was about to erupt into civil war."

The Pevensies exchanged glances.

Charn had been the land Jadis came from, and in a devastating attack, all life there except for Jadis been completely destroyed. They had learned from Professor Kirke about his own role in introducing Jadis to Narnia, but wondered how Karis' mother had known to get him out. Unless she had been acquainted with Jadis and had known the Witch was going to do something drastic?

"Do we know who his mother was?" Susan asked with a frown, fiddling with the parchment in her hand. "It could tell us a lot about him and his motives."

Caspian shook his head. "We have ideas," he said, "but there is little known about Charn and the White Witch. We have the histories passed down in Trufflehunter's family, some books the Professor hid for many years, and some things we unearthed around the Cair when we were rebuilding. But very little about the White Witch or her land."

Peter sighed. "We can tell you what we know about her, from what a friend told us," he said. "Jadis had a sister, Tallah, who was the rightful Queen of Charn. Jadis overthrew her and Tallah led a rebellion to try and reclaim her throne. During the rebellion, many lives were lost and the land ravaged. In Charn, there was a magic known as the Deplorable Word. When spoken, it would destroy all life except that of the one who properly spoke it."

He sighed. "Jadis, it's said, spoke the word when all her army was gone and dead and she had no other way of winning. She destroyed her land. Her sister, and all those who followed her, would have died the instant the word was uttered."

By the end of the story, Caspian was frowning. "But now the question is, do you think that Jadis could be Karis' mother?"

It was Lucy, surprisingly, who answered him – and without hesitation.

"I don't think so, Caspian," the youngest Queen said. "Jadis wasn't one to admit defeat. I doubt she'd send an heir off because it would mean she was uncertain she could win. She didn't admit defeat until everyone was dead and she was about to be overthrown."

Folding her arms in front of her, she added, "She had no heart. She isn't his mother. I really don't think she'd send someone to another world. I think she would have gone herself and never looked back if she had found a way."

"I'm inclined to agree," Peter said thoughtfully. "We don't know much of Tallah either, but there is a chance she was a good person. Perhaps she was Karis' mother?" No one spoke. There was no real way to know without asking the man himself. And that's if he even knew.

Sighing, Caspian gestured to a few parchments on the table in front of him. "These are his missives, and you can see why we made the connection to the Charn prince," Caspian said. "He does go on about being the 'rightful king of Narnia'. Why else would he do that, unless he felt he had a birthright?" The young man pushed the parchment across the table to Peter, who was nearest. The oldest Pevensie took hold of them and immediately scanned the words, his eyes widening marginally.

After passing them to Edmund, he glanced briefly at the older woman with them – whom Caspian remembered was their mother – and then turned his full attention to Caspian. "I can see why you believe this Karis might be the prince mentioned in the history of Charn. And this does complicate things," he said. "If this Karis fellow has a way to travel from his world to Narnia, and we don't know about it, there is little chance of organizing a rescue." He frowned. "But you know we can't simply give ourselves up to him either, Caspian."

Peter steadfastly ignored the gasp from Helen Pevensie across the table.

The other King shook his head quickly. "I knew this," he said. "But I am unfamiliar with these other worlds and since you are from one of them, we all felt it was best to try to call you for your aid. If Karis can travel to Narnia from his world, he may have brought Miriam there to hide her away. He might wish to claim the Narnian throne and then move to your world. The possibilities are endless."

Edmund was frowning at the parchment in his hands as Lucy and Susan craned their heads and read over his shoulders. "Have you thought perhaps Karis demanded that you summon us because he thought we could tell him how to travel to other lands?" the younger King said slowly. "Since he hasn't already done it, and has taken a hostage to lure us here, it looks to me like he has no idea how to get to other lands and is banking that we know more."

Peter was impressed with Edmund's intuition. He had come to a similar conclusion himself and from the look on Caspian's face, he imagined the other young man had as well.

"I agree with Edmund," Peter said. "I think he wished us here to gain whatever knowledge we have and he took Miriam to force you to summon us." Shifting his gaze to Glozelle, he said quietly. "We will do all that we can to help bring her safely back to both of you."

His siblings nodded vigorously and the two Telmarines smiled lightly and nodded their thanks.

Caspian suddenly stood, jostling the table. "I've done well in the time since you've been gone, my friends," he said, red-rimmed eyes glistening with unshed tears, "but I am at a loss here. That parchment expressly states if I do not turn you over to Karis, he will kill Miriam, and that they are where I cannot go to rescue her."

Throwing his hands up in the air, he continued. "But I can't _do _that and I fear for my love's life," he said. "What do you suggest?"

They were all surprised when it was an older, female voice that answered. "Can't you speak to this man? Will he come to a table and talk?" Mrs. Pevensie was eying Caspian with a motherly expression of sorrow, feeling somehow that he was much like her sons and wanting to comfort him or at least give him hope.

Doctor Cornelius frowned. "We have asked him," he said. "But he has refused, stating he will do nothing until we answer his demands."

Edmund shook his head. "Then we have no choice. We'll have to let him know we're here and see if he will speak to _us_," the younger King said. "Before you all start yelling _no_, hear me out."

Peter was the one who had to practically strangle himself to stop his negative response. But he respected Edmund and knew his brother wouldn't suggest anything that would unduly jeopardize their lives.

"Go on, King Edmund," Trumpkin said gruffly. "You were good for ideas last time, I'd like to hear what you have to say."

Caspian nodded as well and Edmund's gaze flicked to Peter. When his brother sighed heavily and slumped with a nod, he let out a breath and spoke again. "We should send Karis a reply, by the same method he sends his ransoms," he said. "Request to meet him somewhere neutral. Just the five Kings and Queens …" he trailed off as the others burst out with shakes of their heads and a chorus of "No!"

"I'm not finished…" he said loudly, his eyes narrowed.

When the others quieted, he went on. "Just the five Kings and Queens _out in the_ _open," _he said, stressing the "out in the open" with a quirky smile. "The others will be nearby and know to come to our aid at a specified call. I don't think there is any other way we'll get enough information to see what we are really dealing with. We won't agree to anything just yet, hopefully Karis will respect that we need time to think."

Caspian was slowly shaking his head. "I don't like it," he said quietly, "but I haven't another idea." His eyes locked on King Peter, whose frown was so deep he looked angry enough to spew fire.

Finally, the blonde spoke. "I don't like it either, but Caspian is right, there isn't anything else we _can_ do at the moment. We must find out what Karis intends, and try to find out how he is traveling between worlds."

Trumpkin suddenly snorted. "It's fairly obvious what he _intends_, High King Peter," the dwarf said. "He's the ambitious sort. He's the ruler of his world. Finds a way into another. Wants to be the ruler of that world. Finds out there are other worlds still, and wants to rule those."

Peter couldn't help the chuckle. "Thank you, dear little friend, for putting it so simply," he said, drawing a glare from the dwarf at the hated nickname. "I believe you are correct. But we need to know what he needs _us_ for. Something tells me it isn't just our company he seeks."

"What do you mean, Peter?" Susan said, looking at her brother. "What do you think he wants besides a chance to grill us for information on how we travel to Narnia?"

The young High King frowned again. "I feel if it was information he wanted, he'd have kidnapped someone else. Perhaps Trufflehunter. Perhaps the good Dr. Cornelius. _Not_ _Miriam_. He wants _**us**_, and only us, and he knew that Caspian would call us when he could do nothing else. So I think he wants more than information."

"Like what?" Edmund huffed. "Blood?"

Peter didn't laugh and Edmund blanched. "You can't be seriously thinking that, Peter," the boy said with wide-eyes. "Why in Narnia would you jump to _that _conclusion?"

Sighing, Peter looked at Edmund and pushed aside all thoughts of what his brother had faced their first time in Narnia. "The Deep Magic, Edmund," he said quietly. "Many forms of magic rely on blood. Surely _you_ know that. Karis may have used such a method to travel here and assumes he needs the blood of someone native to another world in order to get there." He frowned. "I really don't know why I'm thinking this, but it just sort of feels right to me."

Lucy chuckled uneasily. "Have you suddenly turned psychic, Peter?" she said. "You've always been smart, but you seem pretty sure of this."

He shook his head. "I don't know," he said again. "It just makes sense. I can't see Karis being so adamant that _we_ be here and that we be given over to him if it was just knowledge he sought. Maybe I'm totally in error, though."

"There's a slight flaw in that logic," Quentin suddenly said, drawing attention to himself and shrinking back a little. When he saw no one seemed angry about it, he continued. "If this guy thinks he needs native blood to get to another world, how would he have gotten _**here**_?"

Peter frowned. It _was_ a good point, but something was practically pounding in his skull, thrumming the word "blood" over and over again. "I see what you're saying, Quen," he said slowly. "But I still think blood plays a role in this. Somehow. Even if Karis doesn't know it."

He rubbed his eyes harshly and Caspian, taking pity on the other boy's obvious exhaustion, patted him on the shoulder suddenly. "You are weary," he said. "Go, rest, we will devise this letter to Karis in the morning after we have all gotten some sleep."

The others all nodded, realizing how late the hour was and how tired they really were. Tumnus bowed to Peter and Susan. "Do you need me to escort you and your family back to your quarters, Your Majesties?"

Peter nodded and smiled. "We can manage, Tumnus," he said. "Your ancestor did a marvelous job of detailing the Cair. Already, at times, it feels as if we never left, excepting the fact we are once again younger and have a few more friends and family with us."

After bidding Caspian and his advisors good-night, the Pevensies and Quentin separated and retired for the night – four of them worried for their friend and wondering what they would have to give for Narnia _this _time, and the other two worried for their friends and family and wondering if they would play a pivotal role in this … somehow.

_A/N: Please, pretty, pretty please, review! I'll beg. I really will!_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I've been preoccupied by the election here in the U.S. Sorry this is so short, but I just didn't have time or energy enough to write anymore. Let me know what you think, though, because I'll probably need the inspiration..._

**Part Three:**

The five Pevensies and Quentin came to a halt outside the room where Helen and the girls had changed earlier. Peter could tell - just by looking at her - that Mrs. Pevensie didn't like the idea of being away from her sons all night. With a small smile, he pointed down the hallway.

"We'll be three doors down," he said. "If you need us, for any reason at all, just come and get us. Honestly, I don't care if we're fast asleep – if you need us, come."

Helen knew the words were for her benefit and nodded gratefully to Peter. Edmund patted her arm, nodded to Susan and Lucy and then turned and began leading Quentin away.

Peter dallied a moment longer.

"Nothing will hurt us in Cair Paravel," he said to the woman beside him. "Try not to fret too much, Mum. Besides …" he looked to the older of his two sisters. "Susan is a fair shot; I think she could take care of you if anyone _were_ to come in unexpectedly."

Helen frowned. "Fair shot? With what?"

Peter shook his head. "Her bow of course," he said. Then he frowned. "But, oh, that's right. She doesn't _have_ her bow, does she?" He was interrupted by an excited squeal from inside the room, followed by pounding footsteps – hard to do with soft shoes.

"Yes she does!"

Lucy barreled out the doorway holding a small leather pouch with a diamond bottle inside and small sheathed dagger. "Our gifts from Father Christmas!" she said with a smile. "I'll bet yours are in your room, Peter."

The older boy felt his heart leap in his chest. He would never have admitted it to anyone, but it had been difficult to hand Rhindon over to Caspian when they had left Narnia last time. Holding the beautifully wrought sword of the High King would be a great pleasure.

Seeing the look in his eyes, Susan smiled. "Go on, Peter. You know you want to see if it's there."

He smiled, a faint blush creeping up on his cheeks, and then gave his sisters and mother quick pecks on the cheeks and walked as calmly – yet still as quickly – as he could to the room he would share with his brother and Quentin.

Susan watched him go with a small smile. Shaking her head in amusement, she turned to her mother. "Come on, Mum," she said, drawing Helen from her thoughts.

The woman was frowning lightly. "What was he so excited about?" she questioned as she let her daughter lead her into the bedchamber. Lucy was reverently fingering the bottle she had come out with and Susan had eyes only for the beautiful bow and quiver on one of the beds.

Lucy, seeing Susan was preoccupied with her gifts, patted the side of the bed beside her. "I expect he was excited about Rhindon," she said as Helen took a seat. "That's the sword of the High King. For Peter, it was like an extension of his arm a lot of the time. Parting with it was hard for him, I guess."

Susan was drawing back on the string of her bow now, and Mrs. Pevensie and Lucy watched quietly as she let it loose with a soft "twang" before wistfully setting it on the chair beside the bed.

Picking up the horn next, she lightly toyed with the beautiful piece before placing it on the chair as well. She spent less time studying her arrows and they joined the other gifts soon enough.

Helen stood suddenly and moved to her side. "Maybe in the morning, you can show me how good you are with that," she said quietly. She _was_ curious about her children's' talents, even though she cringed when she thought of them using these gifts in a battle.

A broad smile crossed Susan's face and Helen knew she had said the right thing. "I'd _love_ to, Mum," she said. "Maybe I get it from you…have you ever shot a bow?"

The woman shook her head negatively. "I'm not so sure I want to, Su," she said quietly. "I've always preferred words to weapons, you know that. But, we'll have to see in the morning, perhaps. I might be willing to try just once."

Lucy flopped down on the bed she had been sitting on and glanced around their room. "So," she said conversationally. "How are we going to be sleeping? Seeing as there are only _two_ beds?"

Mrs. Pevensie looked around and shook her head. "I suppose two of us will have to share," she said with a laugh. "I vote for you and your sister." She chuckled at the looks her daughters exchanged. "Since I'm the mother, I automatically win…"

The girls gaped at her before all three erupted into laughter.

They were interrupted by a knock on their door and all three frowned. Could it be Peter, Edmund or Quentin for some reason? Standing quickly, Susan moved to the wooden door and pulled it open to reveal none of the boys – but someone decidedly shorter.

"Trumpkin!" she exclaimed. The dwarf was shifting from foot to foot, carrying something draped with a velvety cloth. Susan realized he was waiting for an invitation. "Oh, forgive me, where are my manners? Come in, dear little friend."

She stepped aside so he could enter and then shut the door gently behind him. Lucy smiled and waved happily at the dwarf and Helen tried not to stare _too_ hard. She'd seen the dwarf in the meeting earlier, but he would still take some getting used to. Especially since this time, they were both standing and she towered over him. Even Lucy was taller.

"My Queens," he said, clearing his throat. "King Caspian thought you might want these." He pulled the cloth off of whatever it was he was holding and Helen couldn't help the small gasp that escaped her lips at the beautiful circlets that sat atop a cushion.

"Oh!" Lucy exclaimed, jumping to her feet and hurrying over – then hesitating. "I hadn't even thought about them." She still didn't take hers, even though her fingers were itching to do it.

Both girls were surprised when Trumpkin suddenly set the cushion down on the nearest surface, a dressing table, and took Lucy's from atop it.

With a small grumble, he cocked an eyebrow and looked up at Lucy pointedly. The girl chuckled and then bent low enough for him to set the crown lightly on her head with a small smile.

Susan had to bend even lower, and ended up simply going down on one knee. When she stood up, she turned to face Helen; Lucy following suit.

The woman's eyes were riveted on the girls. Looking closer, Susan could almost see tears brimming. Behind her, Trumpkin cleared his throat, bid them a quiet good night, and backed out of the room.

"My girls," Helen said suddenly, with a watery smile. "It just really hit me that everything you, Peter and Edmund told me is true. Really true. My little girls – Queens."

She sank onto the bed behind her and Lucy and Susan immediately came to her side, sitting down with her and letting her draw them into a hug.

"We might be Queens, Mum, but we'll always be your little girls too," Lucy said quietly. It was a few long, silent moments before the three moved again; changing into nightclothes, snuffing out the lights and climbing into the two beds.

* * *

Peter heard the excited chatter coming from Edmund before he reached the half-open door to the chamber they'd used earlier. His heart gave another little lurch and he practically jogged the last few feet and burst into the room.

The blonde boy took in the sight of Edmund rapidly spinning two swords in the middle of the room and Quentin watching, slightly slack-jawed, from the safety of one of the beds where he was out of the blades' paths.

Seeing his brother in the doorway, Edmund stopped moving and smiled broadly. "Look," he said. "Presents!"

Peter chuckled. "I see," he said. "Lucy came barreling into the hall with her cordial and her dagger a minute ago, and she said Susan's bow and horn were inside their room. I sort of assumed there would be surprises in here as well."

His brother nodded, but not as enthusiastically as he might have and Peter wondered at that. He learned why soon enough when he found his shield on one of the tables, but nothing else.

No Rhindon.

With a small sigh, he picked up the shield and traced the lion emblazoned on the front of it with one hand – briefly remembering the first time a blade had impacted on the shield, wielded by Oreius during an impromptu training session at Beruna.

A hand came down on his shoulder. "All right, there, Peter?" Quentin asked. The blonde was momentarily surprised at his best friend's perception. He heard Edmund shuffle behind him and a sword hilt came to rest on his left shoulder.

"Want a quick go?" his brother asked quietly. "I know that bit of fencing you did at school didn't really do it for you, Peter. It's not Rhindon, but…well…"

Peter cut him off by grasping the hilt in his right hand and pulling it slowly forward, over his shoulder, until it was held aloft in front of him.

The blade was shorter than his own, but it was still a good, solid sword and had served Edmund well in the past. And his body was humming with the desire to wield a sword again.

"I suppose a _few_ swings," he said with a small grin, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Quentin leapt onto the bed again and smiled. "I can't _wait_ to see you two go at it," he said. "I know you can't do it now, being tired and indoors and all, but oh boy do I look forward to watching!"

Edmund chuckled and joined the older boy on the bed to watch Peter, who had stepped into the center of the large chamber where Edmund had just been, still lightly moving the blade about and getting a feel for it.

For a moment, he stared down at his right leg, remembering the off-balance fencing he'd done not that long ago. He hadn't thought he'd be standing in Narnia, in a rebuilt Cair Paravel, about to wield a sword again, so soon.

And even though it wasn't Rhindon, he felt a little bit of his melancholy lift as he pulled the blade up into the starting position of one of his favorite exercises.

He couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face as he swung the blade with a precision born of years of practice – both in and out of battle.

Edmund sighed as he watched his brother move about, swinging the sword like it was an extension of his body, slashing in intricate maneuvers, some of which even _he_ wouldn't dare try.

Beside him, Quentin was shaking his head in disbelief. He leaned in to Edmund. "I know you guys told the fencing club that Peter was better than you with one sword," he whispered. "I guess I can see it now. Man, can you _imagine_ the reaction Mr. Hanson would have had if he could see Peter do _this_?"

For a small moment, Edmund felt a surge of – something. Was it jealousy? His words caught in his throat and he just nodded weakly, disturbed by the thoughts and feelings that had raced through his mind at Quentin's words.

It was buried deep, but Edmund knew that as much as he didn't want to feel it, at least a small part of him enjoyed being in the spotlight in the fencing club.

He hated that Peter had to suffer for it to happen, but it felt good to be in the spotlight. Rarely did the brothers come across something Edmund excelled over Peter at doing.

The younger King wanted to squash the last remnants of what had led him to the White Witch all those years ago, but he was human and part of being human meant having faults.

Perhaps this was one he would have to live with. _I imagine lots of younger brothers feel jealousy at their older brothers, from time to time,_ he thought to himself, shifting and frowning.

Still, he felt horrible thinking it and he supposed it showed on his face because Quentin suddenly frowned. "All right, Edmund?" the older boy asked, ripping his gaze from an oblivious Peter, who had only eyes for the sword in his hands

Clearing his throat, Edmund nodded quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said quietly. "I'm just really happy to see Peter moving like that again. I know Narnia is a magical land, but I really didn't think it would completely heal him just by us being here. I'm very grateful though. If anyone can help Miriam and Caspian, it's Peter."

He was surprised when the bed sank on his other side.

Peter was breathing slightly heavier, but was delighted none-the-less. He wasn't smiling though. "Ed," he said quietly. "You, the girls, even Quen and Mum, are all going to help just as much as I am. Give yourself, and the others, some credit too. This isn't a one-man show."

With a guilty smile, Edmund nodded. "Sorry, Pete," he said. "I guess I just fell into a bit of 'Peter-worship'. You know, like what some of the Narnians used to do after a tournament?"

Peter rolled his eyes as he handed Edmund back his sword, and then flopped backward on the bed, flinging an arm across his face with a grunt. "Do I remember?" he asked from behind his limb. "Some of those people were _crazy_."

Quentin sensed a story there, and vowed to try and find out about it. But later. Right _now_, he was hard pressed to keep his eyes open a second longer.

Standing, he turned to the brothers. "There are only two beds," he said. "Suppose I take the one and you two share? Or do Kings not share beds? Do I have to sleep on the floor?" He said the latter with a smile, so the boys would know he was joking.

Edmund chuckled. "It's fine," he said. "I've been known to climb onto Peter's bed, and vice versa, when one of us was sick or injured. So we don't really mind sharing."

Peter hadn't moved and Edmund nudged him.

The other boy shot up with a bleary-eyed expression and Edmund and Quentin realized he'd fallen asleep. "Sorry 'bout that," the blonde said, rubbing at his eyes and shaking his head lightly to dispel some of the fatigue.

Edmund was about to speak when there was a knock at their door and the boys turned to find Caspian, still dressed as he had been before, standing there with something under a cloth in his arms.

"Am I disturbing you?" the Telmarine King said, glancing at a rumpled Peter and Quentin in the room behind Edmund. He relaxed minutely when Edmund smiled and shook his head, gesturing for him to come in and eying what he was holding.

As the younger King closed the door behind him, Caspian settled the covered cushion on the dressing table beside the wardrobe and then turned to face his friends.

"I see you found your things," he said. "I won't be but a moment. I thought you might want these back during your stay." He pulled the cloth aside and revealed a golden and a silver crown.

Peter and Edmund exchanged glances and small smiles.

Caspian's face broke out into a small smile, one of the few he'd sported since Miriam's abduction. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the crowns and then to the Kings.

Both boys nodded lightly and Peter joined his brother at Caspian's side. The two Pevensie brothers were still shorter than Caspian, though Edmund had grown a bit since their last visit.

Still, the older King had no trouble putting the crowns in their proper places and the two boys thanked him gently for returning them. For a moment, they forgot Quentin still standing over by one of the beds.

His voice reminded them of his presence. "Whoa… I thought the clothes made it real," the boy said slowly, eyes wide yet again. Narnia seemed to do that to him, he thought to himself. "It's sort of funny. They're not what I pictured when you told me about being Kings."

Peter cocked his head to the side, his crown not shifting, it fit so perfectly. "What _did_ you expect?"

With a small smile, he answered, "Oh, I don't know. Something _larger_. To go with those overly large egos of yours…"

His friend laughed so hard he nearly dislodged the crown this time. Edmund was holding his chest as he tried not to laugh too hard and Caspian, even, was holding in chuckles rather unsuccessfully.

Peter, finally catching his breath, turned to Caspian with a twinkle in his eyes. "Thank you, Caspian," he said before pausing for a moment. "You know…if you ever need a court jester, Quentin is the man for the job…"

His friend gaped behind him and then looked between the Pevensies, who were laughing again, and Caspian, who had just finally given in and broken into laughter as well.

Quentin couldn't deny it – it _had_ been funny – and he soon joined in.

When Caspian excused himself with a promise to meet them for breakfast, and an unreadable glance at Peter, before exiting and pulling the door closed behind himself, the boys realized their fatigue again and Peter and Edmund removed the recently returned crowns and set them on the dressing table.

The three brothers went to the wardrobe and changed into nightclothes before climbing onto their beds where Peter was the first to disappear under the covers.

Quentin shook his head lightly at his friend's lump under the blanket. "I suppose he's had a heck of a day, Ed," he said. "I'm not really surprised he fell asleep on us."

Edmund didn't look at him, but continued to stare at the Peter-lump. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It _has_ been quite a day. Let's get some sleep or we'll be falling over ourselves in the morning."

Soon there were no sounds in the room aside from their quiet breathing.

* * *

_Minutes earlier…_

As Caspian shut the door to the bedchamber behind him, the small smile on his face faded to a frown. He had been standing in the doorway for a few moments before he had knocked, and he had seen the look of joy on Peter's face as he wielded his brother's blade with just as much skill as Caspian remembered.

King Peter was a natural with a sword. It was obvious – probably even to one who knew nothing of swordplay. And he knew there was something missing in the picture he had just witnessed.

Rhindon.

Unlike the rest of the gifts the Pevensie siblings had received, the sword of the High King had not been stored away when they left the last time.

Ever since Peter had entrusted it to him, Caspian had carried it. Right now, it hung from a hook in his bedchamber down the hall.

But tomorrow – tomorrow it would return to where it belonged.

He shook his head at not having thought of it before and then moved off down the hallway to get some sleep.

* * *

_The boys' room…the next morning…_

That must have been the thirtieth stroke.

Or perhaps it was the _fortieth_.

"Pete! It's fine!"

Quentin threw his hands up in the air and watched as Peter turned innocently ignorant eyes on him, hand with brush perched to execute yet another stroke.

"Fine? What are you on about, Quen?"

Edmund laughed from the other dressing table where he had just set his silver crown on his dark locks and was brushing a stray string off his emerald green tunic.

As he tugged on the cuffs of his cream undershirt, he turned to Peter. "I think Quentin feels you've done quite enough grooming, Peter," he said with a chuckle.

The blonde looked between his brother, his best friend – and his brush. Turning toward the mirror, he had to admit his hair wasn't going to sit any flatter than it already was and with a sigh, he set his own crown in place and turned a small glare on Quentin.

"Just because _you_ get dressed in hardly any time at all, doesn't mean the rest of us have to share the habit," he said, shifting his black velvet tunic into place and straightening the silvery-gray of the undershirt.

With a frown, he stepped up in front of Quentin and pulled on one side of the other boy's red tunic, shifting it into the proper position. Quentin grumbled a "thanks" and readjusted the pale yellow undershirt to where it was no longer oddly bunched.

Peter reached out to fix a piece of Quentin's hair, but Quentin dodged and held up his hands. "I'm going to have nightmares," he crowed. "Back away, you grooming fiend."

Peter laughed and shook his head. "Suit yourself. But I'd take a look in the mirror on the way out," he said. "You can't miss the tuft of hair sticking _straight_ up."

With that taunt, the older King stepped around his friend and to the door, pulling it open with another small shake of his head. Edmund joined him and Quentin hurried to follow, pausing to take in his reflection and swiftly pressing down the tuft in question.

Edmund was poised to knock on the girls' door when it was flung open and he was nearly bowled over by the ever-excited Lucy. She was dressed in a pale silver dress and her flowered crown stood out from her darker hair just like Edmund's did.

She smiled apologetically up at him and brushed off his tunic. "Sorry about that," she said. "Didn't know you were there, Ed." She took in his crown and smiled. "I see someone stopped by your room last night too!"

The boy nodded, looking back toward the bed chamber as Susan emerged, her sea green dress brushing the ground gently around her feet and her golden crown set just right on her head.

She nodded a greeting to him, and then looked past him to Peter and Quentin before focusing entirely on Quentin. The look was so intense, the other boy actually fidgeted.

Susan took it to mean he was uncomfortable in his clothing again and smiled lightly at him. "You look good," she said quietly, moving to stand beside him and letting Helen exit the room.

Dressed in a deep burgundy gown, Helen Pevensie had pulled her hair completely up this morning and it was pinned in place by silver clips.

She opened her mouth to call out a greeting to her sons and their friend, but the words caught in her throat when she took in their crowns.

Standing almost in a line, with Quentin slightly behind Susan and not really breaking up the picture, the four children looked as if they had stepped out of a fairytale book and Helen found herself hard pressed to hold back her emotions.

It was one thing to imagine a golden crown on Peter's head – it was another thing entirely to _see_ it. And Edmund. He looked every inch the King he was here, even seeming to stand up taller now than he had the night before.

She had already witnessed Susan and Lucy in all their royal glory, but standing beside their brothers they let off even more of a regal air than they did when it was just the two of them.

Maybe there really was something to that prophecy of the four. Together, they were a sight to behold. Separate, they were strong and noble, but it didn't compare to when they were together.

Peter's voice broke into her thoughts.

He had stepped forward, his black tunic a stark contrast to his blonde hair and golden crown. "Are you all right, Mum?" he asked.

The woman swallowed and then smiled. "I'm fine, Peter," she said. "I thought the clothes made you look like royalty, but I must say the crowns have really done it."

His eyes widened and his grin widened marginally. "I see," he said. "Well, I'm sure there are plenty more shocking moments in store for you and Quentin today. We should go eat so you don't have to weather them on an empty stomach."

Holding out an arm to his mother, he smiled again as she linked arms with him and let him escort her in the direction of the banquet hall. He hoped it was in the same place it had been.

Behind him, Quentin worked up his courage and smiled to Susan, who blushed lightly and slipped her own arm through his waiting one as the two set off behind Peter and Helen.

Edmund and Lucy exchanged glances, scrunching their noses.

"No way."

"Not going to happen."

They laughed and set off down the corridor side-by-side, but their arms were nowhere near linked.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Sorry for the delays in updating. I've been temping for a former co-worker who was diagnosed with lung cancer and is undergoing surgery. Because of that, I'll be slow to update but I will NOT abandon this story and I'll try to go no longer than a week between updates. Less if possible. Thanks for sticking with me, you are all wonderful. And a special thanks to those who review…_

**Part Four: **

Helen was momentarily taken aback when Peter stopped in front of two large wooden doors. She turned to look at her son as he gently extricated himself from her grasp. "Peter?" she asked uncertainly.

He smiled in response. "We're going to be announced. One at a time. You just need to go up to the high table and sit at the seat farthest on the right. You won't be able to miss the table; it'll be raised above the others."

The look on Helen's face changed from uncertainty to shock.

"Oh. Oh dear." She turned as Quentin and Susan arrived, followed by Lucy and Edmund – who were standing as far apart from each other as they could, while still being considered as walking together. "This is going to be awkward."

Quentin looked questioningly at his friend. "What? It's just a meal." He turned questioning eyes on Susan. "Isn't it?"

The young woman shook her head. "It _is_ a meal, but nothing is _just_ _anything_ when you're dealing with royalty." She frowned. "I expect they'll call you and Mum first, if we're going in order of ranking. So you'll need to go to King Caspian's table and sit at the far left."

Quentin's eyebrows furrowed. "How do you know that? You haven't even seen the room."

Lucy chuckled from behind him. "We've been to enough state functions to know how it all works," she said reassuringly. "Just do what Su said and you'll be fine, I expect. I'll be right after you two."

The older boy looked skeptical that all would be well, but he knew he hadn't much choice if he wanted to eat. Which, of course, he did -- badly. And he imagined it would be something he would need to get used to, since he had no idea how long they would all be in Narnia.

Before he could say anything else, a head poked through the doorway.

A Faun took in the people waiting outside the banquet hall and spoke quietly. "If you're ready, we'll begin announcing you."

Peter nodded to the Faun, who bowed and backed his head through the slightly open door. They could hear him gathering the attention of those assembled – but it was Caspian's voice that trickled through the door now.

"It is with great excitement that I announce the arrival of visitors to Cair Paravel," he said, drawing a few twitters from whoever had already arrived for the meal. Peter was momentarily surprised that Caspian was already in the hall, since before the Pevensies had gone back to England he had always been introduced last.

He tuned back in as Caspian spoke again.

"…and now, may I present to you, a friend of our Kings and Queens of Old, who has traveled far to grace our fair city – Sir Quentin."

The door was pulled open and Peter couldn't help his chuckle as Quentin jumped back like he'd been scalded from where he'd been listening at the door. For a moment, all his friend could do was stare with his jaw hanging down and his eyes wide.

From inside the hall, Peter heard the start of whispers and realized that Quentin was taking too long. Acting quickly, he pushed his friend through the open door and into the room before Quentin could react.

Helen shot her oldest child a glare for his actions, and he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. "They were starting to wonder!" he said defensively, his Kingly persona shrinking somewhat when faced with a chiding mother.

Before the woman could go on, the applause died down in the hall and Caspian's voice drifted to them again. "May I present you, our next guest, who also traveled far to come here -- Lady Helen ."

The woman briefly took on the same expression that Quentin had sported moments ago, but she was able to quickly shrug it off and the four siblings were surprised when she took on a persona that screamed "royalty".

The four watched her glide through the door with no prodding and disappear into the room amidst shouted and cheered greetings.

Edmund and Lucy exchanged looks. "Do you think that's how you and Su took to this royalty business like it was second nature?" the boy wondered with a frown. "I mean, look at that! She just…wow."

Lucy nodded but said nothing and Peter didn't even manage a nod, he was still staring at the now slightly closed door to the banquet hall and barely aware of Caspian's voice starting up again.

For a moment, looking at his mother, Peter had seen, not the woman who gave birth to him, but the sister who had grown up beside him at the head of a nation years ago. Helen Pevensie had looked exactly like an older Susan just then, walking with her head held high and her shoulders square.

He snapped back to attention to take in Caspian's next words, ones that he knew only too well, that introduced first his youngest sister – to which the cheers and gasps were far louder than they had been for his friend and their mother – next his brother, who garnered the same attention, and finally his elder sister.

By now, Peter was fidgeting, which he hadn't done since his coronation. But there was one thing _here_ that had not been _there_. Or rather two. His mother and his best friend.

"… High King Peter the Magnificent!"

Jerking slightly as the door creaked back open, Peter wiped the nervous expression off his face and stepped forward. His thoughts were decidedly odd for a seasoned King entering a banquet hall. _I hope I don't trip or something…_

The lights in the hall were bright and the cheers momentarily made Peter want to turn around and walk back through the doors. But it was part of who he was here, and he pressed on with a small smile toward Caspian and his family and friends at the high table.

His steps did falter when he saw what Caspian was holding.

He hid the reaction well enough that only Edmund, and perhaps Susan and Lucy, would have been able to see it. Caspian smiled broadly at him as Peter reached the table and moved to stand beside the King on his right, glancing quickly at a smiling Edmund who was beside him as well.

With a raised hand, Caspian called for those assembled to quiet down and they did so quickly – the excited cheers of moments earlier dying down to a low thrum and the occasional chair scrape or Centaur hoof scratching along the stone floor.

Peter and Caspian stood about the same height now, though they were strikingly different in coloring, and the two easily made eye contact. Caspian's dark orbs were shining with some emotion, though Peter couldn't pick out what.

He was nervously clenching and unclenching his sword-hand instead, although he was careful to keep it below the level of the table so no one else could see.

"King Peter," the Telmarine said just loudly enough to be overheard by those closest to the High Table. "I had not realized you were missing something in your quarters last night. I wish to rectify that now."

He spoke louder as he continued.

"I recall Aslan saying, 'Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia'," he said with a smile. "Rhindon is rightfully the sword of the High King and you will always be Narnia's High King. I ask that you accept back the sword you entrusted to my care when you departed two years ago."

He held the sheathed sword with the golden hilt out in front of him.

Peter couldn't tear his eyes from the sword and he reached out and took it into his hand, clasping it tightly and wanting sorely to give it a go like he had last night with Edmund's short sword.

He knew he _couldn't_ but his muscles didn't as they ached to try it.

Gulping, he looked back up at Caspian. "Thank you," he said. It was all he could say, at the moment. He made quick work of fastening the sword belt around his waist and tried to plaster a neutral smile on his face. It wasn't working really.

Seeing the emotions flitting across his friend's face, Caspian drew attention back to himself. Turning to the crowd, he smiled and seated himself.

"Please, sit and eat well," Caspian called out. Peter casually shifted his sword just so and sat without difficulty – the others at the High Table following suit.

At the other end of the table, Helen's eyes were locked on her oldest child as he handled his sheathed sword with the ease of experience. Her heart had leapt into her throat when she saw the young King give Peter a sword.

She hadn't missed the longing in her son's gaze and remembered her daughter's words about what had sent him practically running to his room the previous night. While she didn't like the idea of him ever _needing_ a sword, she was glad he was obviously so pleased to receive it back.

Sighing, she turned her attention to the many different types of beings in the hall as the rest of those assembled erupted into a din of excited talking and reacted to the arrivals of the Narnian Kings and Queens.

But not all the whispers were about the Pevensies and their friends.

Some were reserved for the still-empty seat on Caspian's left. Which would normally be occupied by his betrothed – Lady Miriam.

* * *

_Her chuckle was like the tinkling bells she was so fond of sewing into her dresses and Caspian couldn't tear his gaze from the lovely young woman beside him as they rode away from Cair Paravel._

"_I still can't believe he thought you would __**agree**__ to such utter nonsense, Caspian."_

_Miriam twisted around in her saddle and glanced at the trailing guards who never let the young couple far from their sight. Seeing they were some distance back, she smiled broadly and turned back to Caspian. _

"_I mean, honestly, they wanted you to promise your first heir would marry their daughter!" She shook her head. "We aren't even married yet and they are deciding our child's future."_

_Caspian laughed and replied, "I'm finding the requests that come to anyone with a royal title can be very unusual. The professor once told me that someone tried the same thing with my parents – getting them to promise me in marriage before I was even conceived."_

_Miriam reigned her steed closer to his and leaned toward him. "I'm very glad your parents did not agree, Cas," she said, eyes twinkling. "Or you'd be married already and we would never have been."_

_He was drawn into her dark brown eyes and for a moment nothing else existed but the two of them and the forest around them. Caspian would happily have leapt from his horse and dragged her down from hers for a kiss right then – and he might have – if not for the sudden __**thwack**__ that drew his attention sharply to the right._

_Quivering in a tree a few feet away was a black-fletched arrow._

_Caspian's head snapped to the left, searching for the shooter and his eyes widened when figures burst from the trees around them, seemingly from all directions. He couldn't fathom how they had not known they were there._

_Behind them, he heard the sounds of swords being drawn and knew the royal guards were fighting their way forward to try and reach their King and his betrothed. Miriam's horse chose that moment to rear sharply, throwing the startled young woman from its back with a cry._

"_Miriam!" Caspian called out, vaulting from his own saddle and rushing to her side, drawing his sword as he did so. Standing between her and the oncoming figures, he called behind him. "Get up, Miri! Quick!"_

_He could hear her scrambling behind him just as the first figure reached them and he parried a fierce sword strike aimed at his left arm. Miriam gasped behind him and he shoved forward and unbalanced his opponent so he could spin around and find her._

"_No!"_

_Miriam was struggling against two figures who were dragging her, kicking and screaming, into the nearby woods. Caspian took a step in her direction, meeting her frantic and petrified eyes, only to suddenly find himself flat on the ground on his stomach._

_A fiery pain in the back of his left shoulder took his breath away as he tried to lever himself up. _

_Still struggling desperately, Miriam had knocked the hoods off her two attackers and Caspian caught a glimpse of two human men with dark, curly hair and fierce scowls before he was hit over the head and all went black._

"Caspian?"

Peter nudged the young King's leg under the table, concerned about the glassy, pained expression on his friend's face. When the other King jerked in surprise, he knew he had startled him out of a reverie of some sort.

"Caspian? Are you well?" he asked quietly, drawing the Telmarine's dark gaze toward himself. "You were rather distracted just then."

Swallowing the bile that always crept up when he remembered the day of Miriam's kidnapping, he forced a small smile onto his face even though he suspected it wouldn't fool Peter.

"I'm all right," he said. "I was simply lost in thought. I have had some difficulty focusing of late." His words slowed to a halt when Peter glared at him. "What?"

The blonde shook his head. "I know you're hiding something when you start talking overly formal with me," he said. "I'll let it slide, though, since I know you are troubled about Miriam."

Caspian's reaction to the young woman's name was proof enough to Peter that she had been the subject of his daydream. With a sigh, he thought about the bright and funny young lady that he had observed helping his sisters plan the victory feast to celebrate Caspian's coronation.

She had risen to the challenge of the feast planning alongside Lucy and Susan and both girls had quickly become attached to her charming nature and never-ending energy. In many ways, she was like Lucy.

He was shaken from his memories of Miriam when Caspian nudged his arm with a frown to match Peter's earlier one. "Peter?"

"Sorry, bit distracted," the High King said.

Both young men shook their heads and laughed before Caspian shifted his eyes past Peter to Edmund. "You know," he said, twiddling with his utensils idly. "We have had a tournament planned for a few weeks now, slated to begin the day after tomorrow."

He watched both Edmund and Peter perk up at that and turn their questioning gazes on him. There was a light – a fire, almost – in the brothers' eyes. Caspian didn't know much about their world, but they had told him there was no sword-fighting and tournaments where they came from and both of them missed it when they had left.

"What contests are you having?" Edmund asked, his words rushed in his excitement. "Can anyone enter? Could we?"

Caspian chuckled. "We are having the traditional Telmarine double-sword and archery competitions, and the Narnian joust and single-sword contests," he said. "A good mix. This was the first year we could get things together. But with all that's happened…I was thinking we would have to cancel."

A voice erupted from his other side.

"_**No**_!"

Susan's vehement exclamation had startled all three boys, who hadn't even known she had been listening, and had even drawn the attention of the rest of their table and a few at a nearby table.

She sheepishly smiled. "Sorry, but I couldn't help but overhear what you were talking about, Caspian. And I just think that you should go on with the tournament." She leaned closer. "Your people are beginning to worry about Miriam's absence. A tournament would be the perfect distraction. And it would keep people _here_, not out there where Karis' men could attack them."

Peter was nodding in thought.

"Queen Susan has an excellent point," he said. "And I think if Ed and I were to compete, it would draw even more interest. The less people worry, the better, I always say." He saw Susan glare at him and stopped speaking. "Su? Something wrong?"

She fairly growled at him. "Did you listen to what Caspian said, Peter? About the contests? I do agree – you, Ed and _I_ will be great distractions. After all, you can't expect me not to participate in an archery contest. It was something I always wished we had in Narnia during our reign."

Peter blushed lightly and tugged on his collar. "Sorry, Susan," he said. "Didn't mean to exclude you like that. Wasn't thinking clearly."

She scoffed in jest. "Obviously," she said with a smile she wasn't quite able to hide.

Deciding quickly, Caspian suddenly stood up and the hall fell quiet almost immediately.

All eyes turned on the young King, who smiled as he looked over his subjects. "Fellow Narnians and Telmarines!" he said. "I know you have all been anxious to learn the fate of our first tournament. I am pleased to announce that the event will go on as planned. With the addition of a few competitors." He gestured to his side. "High King Peter and King Edmund have expressed an interest in competing – " he swung his other arm out – "as has Queen Susan. The tournament will begin with the archery competition the day after tomorrow at noon!"

There was a roar of excited cheering and the hall fairly burst with conversation when Caspian nodded and sat back down, a broad grin on his face. He turned to Edmund. "Does that answer your question, Edmund? About competing?"

The other boy shook his head with a smile. "Sure does."

Peter knew they were here in Narnia for an important mission – to help rescue Miriam and defeat this Karis fellow – but he couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement about the tournament.

He wouldn't be able to dedicate all his time and energy to it, but he expected he would do well enough even so. And it would be wonderful to get up on a horse and joust again, even though it had scared the life out of him the first time he'd done it.

The blonde might have continued in that line of thought if it weren't for the sudden jolt of trepidation that ran through him when he locked his eyes on Helen Pevensie. She was staring unabashedly at him.

With a raised eyebrow, she mouthed "tournament?" to him and then shook her head and called out. "Peter, dear, we must talk later. There are a few things I've been meaning to ask you."

It was their mother's way of saying – without actually drawing attention to it – that she was not happy with the way things were moving. Peter couldn't help but cringe at the tone. It had been a long time since anyone had been parental with him and even so, it was still strangely unnerving.

_You'd think after all those years in Narnia, and then my time in the Army, that I wouldn't shrink under one of Mum's glares or bite my nails knowing she was going to give me one of her talks_, he thought to himself as he nodded his agreement slowly and then turned his attention to his meal.

A sudden commotion at the door to the banquet hall threw the hall into another bout of silence. A messenger hurried forward, moving swiftly to the High Table and came to a skidding halt in front of Caspian.

"My King," the young Telmarine panted. "A message just arrived." He eyed Peter beside Caspian before continuing. "It is addressed to the 'False Narnian Rulers'."

Unsure what to do, he held it out in front of him.

The seemingly innocuous white parchment set Caspian's blood on fire. He knew that paper. He knew that distinct, crisp fold. He knew that dark black ink that bled through just enough to let you know there was writing inside.

Karis.

Seeing Caspian not moving, Peter extended a hand and took the parchment from the messenger's hand. With a nod, he sent the young man back to his post and turned to Caspian.

"Perhaps we should retire elsewhere before we open this," he said quietly, drawing Caspian's worried gaze onto himself. Seeing fear there, and the trembling hands resting on the table, Peter added, "She's fine. Now come. We have much to discuss and a message to read."

Caspian pulled himself together and rose with the Pevensies, Quentin and Helen. The hall rose with them and watched silently as the monarchs and the other guests filed out of the room through a side doorway. Caspian paused long enough to indicate that his advisors should join them as well, before following the Pevensies out.

* * *

_Caspian's study… _

The room was deathly silent as Peter released the seal on the parchment and unfolded the letter from Karis. His eyes scanned the page, and narrowed in anger at the man's audacity.

Reading aloud, he said, "King Peter, Queen Susan, Prince Edmund, and Princess Lucy: I am pleased to hear that you have finally arrived. Much longer and your delay would have cost Lady Miriam her life. Now that you are here, I demand the pleasure of your company. King Caspian will know the meeting place, as it was there that he failed to protect his betrothed. Come tomorrow. Noon. Do not be late, else all you'll find is a body."

As he handed it to Caspian, he turned to his brother and sisters, the younger two scoffing at the titles Karis had given them – Edmund muttering that this was the "second person to get it wrong."

"Well, it's quite obvious he knows we're here," Peter said with a shake of his head. "How -- I would very much like to know." He saw Caspian hand the letter off to Edmund. "I don't see any way around meeting with him."

He saw Mrs. Pevensie fidget beside Susan, but was immensely grateful that she was holding her tongue. For the moment. As the letter reached the last person, Caspian ran a hand through his dark hair.

"He will not be alone," he added. "Nor will we. I don't think he will bring Miriam with him either. It would be too risky for him to chance losing her to us. We will have to hear him out and learn what it is he wants from you."

Edmund sighed, looking quickly at Quentin and Mrs. Pevensie. "I don't think we should bring more people than necessary," he said slowly. "Karis shouldn't see anyone other than us, Caspian, and the guards…"

The young boy inwardly shrank when his mother bristled and her eyes narrowed. "Edmund Pevensie, are you suggesting I _not_ be there when my children walk into what could be a _very_ dangerous situation?"

Peter saw his mother winding up to lay into Edmund, and knew he had to stop her. "Mother," he said quietly. "May I speak with you?" He looked to the others. "Please, excuse us…"

Taking her arm, he gently, but firmly led her away.

She didn't resist, but he could tell she was ready to give _him_ a tongue-lashing next. When they were out of earshot from the others, he drew in a deep breath and turned to face her – adopting his strongest High King Peter stance and expressions.

Helen paused as she took in his demeanor.

"Mum," he said quietly. "I know what you are thinking, and I understand that you want to be there with us. But your presence would only endanger us more." He slowed when she made to speak and raised a hand to stop her. "Let me finish, please?"

When she nodded, he went on.

"Karis wants us for a reason, and I suspect it has something to do with our coming from another world. If he learns that you and Quentin also came from England, he might see you as alternatives to us. I hate to say it, but not being a King and Queen, he might see you two as the easier quarry. I don't want that to happen."

The woman had to admit he had a point. If this Karis fellow just wanted someone from England, he might find it simpler to get his hands on someone less "high profile" than the Kings and Queens of Narnia.

"I still don't like it," she said, crossing her arms across her chest. "What if there is a fight? What if one of you is hurt … or worse?" She shuddered inwardly at the last thought and quickly dispelled it from her mind.

Peter gripped her shoulder. "I …" he hesitated, wondering if what he was about to say was the right thing to say. "Mum, you have to remember, the four of us grew up. We might be children, physically, but we have been in numerous dangerous situations over the years. This is relatively simple in comparison. I do understand your reservations. I was always loathe to bring Ed to campaigns when we were younger and I guess I acted a bit _parental_ at times, but we have to do this or a young girl is going to die."

He glanced past his mother and waited until she followed his gaze.

Sitting forlornly in a seat in the corner was General Glozelle.

Peter leaned in close to his mother. "If we don't do this, _he_ is going to lose the only family he has." He felt bad for laying it on that thick, but he also felt strongly that Helen and Quentin should not accompany them to the meeting.

Just like he had had a feeling about the blood – he just had a feeling it was best.

Helen, meanwhile, looked at the man seated in the corner and her gaze softened. "I…I can't imagine what he is going through," she whispered before turning to Peter. "You're right. You can't risk her life anymore than the danger she's already in, Peter. Promise you will be careful."

He smiled. "We will. We always are, Mum."

Leaning the rest of the way, he gave her a brief hug and gestured back to the group, who was looking their way every so often and obviously speaking in circles until the two rejoined them.

They moved back toward the table, but with a look at Peter, Helen veered off toward Glozelle and left her son to continue the plans for the next day. Edmund looked relieved that Helen wasn't planning to continue her tirade from earlier.

"So," Peter said firmly. "Tomorrow's meeting will be between the Kings and Queens and Karis. No need to let Karis know there are more of us from England . He might already know, but since he didn't mention anyone else in the letter, we can assume for now he doesn't know Quentin and our mother are here and I want to keep it that way."

Caspian nodded, understanding why Peter had pulled the older woman aside now.

"That is a good idea," he agreed. "So we are in agreement? At noon tomorrow we will travel outside Cair Paravel to where Miriam was taken." He faltered as he finished, mind drifting back to that horrible day.

Edmund saw the darkening expression and reached a hand out to lightly grip Caspian's arm. "It wasn't your fault," he said firmly. "No matter what Karis said in his letter. You can't win every battle."

The older King nodded lightly and then sighed. "I have to go," he said. "Court begins in a few minutes. Will you all be all right until mid-day meal? Lord Glozelle will be able to help you, if you have need of anything."

Peter smiled. "We'll be fine, Caspian," he said. "Tomorrow, we'll be one step closer to getting Miriam back."

Caspian let out a shaky breath and attempted a smile. "You can perhaps discuss getting fitted for new armor," he said. "After all, neither you nor Edmund are the same size you were before you left and your old pieces won't fit you this time."

As the Telmarine King left, Peter cringed. There was no doubt his mother had heard the armor bit. And if he knew her – she'd have something to say about it soon.

Right on time, her voice piped up from behind him. "Armor? For what?"

Glozelle, who was now standing beside her, said reassuringly, "For the tournament, Lady Helen. They cannot compete without proper armor." He stopped speaking when he noticed the woman's eyes narrow at her sons.

She looked – angry.

"Now, Peter, Edmund, is it really necessary to run around and swing swords at other people? Someone could get hurt, and for what? Glory?" She looked pointedly at her oldest son, who groaned inwardly.

_Why me? Can't she have asked Edmund that one?_ Peter thought to himself. "Um, well, it's only in good fun, Mum," he said. "It's controlled, somewhat. Not like a _battle_ or anything."

Glozelle, seeking to support Peter, nodded in agreement. "Oh, yes," he said. "It would be far less dangerous than King Peter's duel with Miraz was, you have little to worry about. He and King Edmund are excellent swordsmen."

Peter winced _outwardly_ this time and Edmund's eyes grew large. Lucy grimaced and Susan closed her eyes in defeat. This wasn't going to be good.

"Duel? With Miraz? What duel?" Helen Pevensie stepped closer to her oldest son and he stepped back in response. "I don't believe you mentioned a duel when you told me about your first time in Narnia, Peter, dear?"

The blonde shivered at the inadvertent use of Jadis' old taunt and glanced at Edmund with a look that all but screamed _help_. "Um, well, yes," he stammered. "That…well, the duel wasn't during our first time in Narnia. So, I wouldn't have mentioned it then."

Wrong thing to say.

"Oh, so you left out a lot then? What else did you not tell me?"

Peter realized he had been backed into a corner – and a chair, which he proceeded to slump into now and with a thump, let his head fall to the table in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at his mother and decided to just go for it.

He launched into the tale of their second foray into Narnia and sped through meeting Caspian, the night raid – though his mother tried to slow him down there, she wasn't successful – and finally to the duel challenge.

"Edmund sent the challenge to Miraz," he said. "In my name. A fight…um…well, tothedeath. I miraculously recovered just before it happened, and then proceeded to win it. Nothing to it really."

Helen glared at him.

"Slow that down a bit, Peter. I _thought_ I heard you say, 'to the death' somewhere in there. But I must have been mistaken." When Peter didn't answer, she spun and turned her gaze on Edmund, who nearly jumped back. "Edmund?"

Gulping, he nearly squeaked. "We needed him to accept it! And you don't just fight to…to a certain number of _points_ or something, Mum!" he said in defense of his actions. "There were many lives at stake!"

Helen wanted to rail at her sons for taking such risks. But inwardly she knew they wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been necessary. And seeing the embarrassed looks on their face, and trailing them toward Glozelle, she sighed.

"I'm sure there were," she said in defeat. "It's hard for me to accept that you four risked your lives in such ways. I thought you were on your way to school, not fighting in another world."

She looked at Peter. "You said you won that duel. Were you injured? Did you actually kill that man?"

Looking up with forlorn eyes, Peter said wearily, "Yes, I won. Yes, I was injured. And no, I didn't kill Miraz."

Helen closed her eyes for a moment, pained at hearing that Peter had endured injury yet again. Opening them, she saw him fidget and made a decision. Ignoring the fact there was a relative stranger in the room, she knelt in front of his chair and drew him into a hug.

"You're been through so much, Peter," she whispered in his ear. "And I couldn't be there for you for any of it. I hope you aren't hurt here, but if you _are_, rest assured I'll be strong for you so you don't have to be for once."

He smiled into her hair and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Thanks, Mum. But I hope it doesn't come to that too."

Drawing back, Helen and Peter straightened their clothing and Edmund, seeking to break the melancholy, cheerfully spoke up. "Well, why don't we go see about that armor, then? Maybe you can have a go with Rhindon, Peter? I know you're itching to do it…"

Susan nodded enthusiastically and grasped Helen's arm. "And Mum, you said you might even try my bow. Did you mean it? Because I'll go get it right now and we can go with the boys to the training fields."

With a sigh, Helen rolled her eyes. "All right, my weapon-crazed children. Let's go."

Edmund and Peter barely restrained their excitement and Susan wasn't much better. Even Lucy was itching to fling her small dagger a few times, remembering the exhilaration the first time she had hit the center of an archery target with the blade.

As they all filed out of the room, she couldn't help but think, _Mum is going to be awfully surprised when she sees just _how_ good Peter, Edmund and Susan really _are_ with those weapons. Maybe it will ease her worries some…_

_A/N: Pllleeeasseee review. Yes, I know, begging as usual…_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update. I've been bogged down at work and with the girls. I hope it won't be as long next time. Hang in there. This story WILL be finished. Thanks so much to all who read and review! You're the best!_

**Part Five:**

Edmund and Susan had veered off toward their rooms to gather their respective weapons, while Glozelle led Peter, Lucy, Helen and Quentin out to the training fields. As they walked, he explained that the Narnian and Telmarine armies had integrated in the two years since the Pevensies' departure.

"Now we all train together," he said. "It's been interesting, to say the least. There are many things that we have been able to teach each other and I think it has definitely improved our prowess." Looking to Peter, he added, "I've learned much from Lord Glenstorm and should very much like to put it to good use, if you are willing?"

Peter's gazed shifted uncertainly to his mother and he silently berated himself for showing weakness yet again. It was just hard _not_ to defer to the woman when she was standing beside him.

His hand rested anxiously on Rhindon's hilt and the eldest Pevensie didn't miss the pleading in her son's expression. Turning to Glozelle, she said, "Just don't hurt him." Her lips turned down into a frown when the man laughed.

Seeing her new expression, Glozelle faltered and coughed to try and stop his chuckles. "Forgive me, my lady," he said. "I take it you haven't seen King Peter duel? Because if anyone is likely to get hurt, it's myself and not him. His skills are legendary."

Now Peter was blushing. "I'm not _that_ much better than anyone else," he tried to say, but fell into silence when Lucy snorted and Glozelle's eyes widened.

Just then Edmund sauntered up beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders with a large grin, having heard Peter's protest. "Don't listen to him, Mum," he said. "Peter's really that good."

Wanting to turn the tables, Peter twisted in Edmund's grasp and poked his brother in the chest with his finger. "You're not too shabby yourself, Mr. Nearly-Good-Enough-For-The-Olympics fencing student," he said. "You have a tendency to sell yourself short."

Glozelle pushed open a large wooden gate that surrounded the training field. The boys stopped their playful banter and took in the various Narnians and Telmarines practicing different skills on the other side of the enclosure.

Susan's eyes were immediately drawn to the targets set up on the northern side of the fields and Edmund and Peter couldn't take their eyes away from the sword duels going on at the southern end.

Lucy was torn. She liked to watch Peter and Edmund, but she also liked to throw her dagger at the archery targets. She wasn't good with a sword, and frankly wasn't keen on getting terribly close to her opponents.

Sometimes she wished there was something she could specialize in – some weapon that would be suited to her and would give her a real chance to help her brothers and sister defend and protect Narnia.

Her melancholy went unnoticed by all but one, who vowed to speak with the young monarch later and see if he couldn't put that ever-present smile back onto her face.

Both were pulled from their thoughts when Susan took hold of Helen's hand. "Come on, Mum," she said excitedly. "You promised you would fire off a few shots and I intend to hold you to that promise."

The woman looked sourly at the bow in Susan's hand, even though it was a beautiful weapon. "I'm not so sure I'll be any good at it," she sighed, "but I did promise you and I will keep that promise."

Peter nudged Quentin. "You said you wanted to see us fight, Quen," he said with a broad grin. "But…I had a thought." Turning to Glozelle, he gestured the man over. "Do you think there's something in the armory that Quentin could try his hand at dueling with, General?"

The man sized up the boy who was vigorously shaking his head "no" and smiled. "I think I can scrounge something up," he said. "I shall return shortly."

As soon as he was reasonably out of earshot, Quentin rounded on Peter. "Are you nutters, Pete?" he exclaimed, flinging his hands out to the sides to emphasize the point. "If I pick up a sword, I'm liable to lop off a leg or something!"

Edmund patted him on the back. "I doubt you'd be any worse than Peter or I were when _we_ first picked up swords, Quentin," he said gently. "Besides, you might need to defend yourself here and we don't want you to be unable to do so."

Peter sighed. "If you really don't want to do it, you don't have to," he said to his best friend. "But you seemed enthusiastic when we talked about it and I thought you might like to try it."

"Hearing about it is one thing, Peter," Quentin said, running a hand through his hair. "But while fencing foils might be able to take out your eye, they won't gut you. I'm just not sure if I'll be all that comfortable swinging something lethal at someone else. Even if it's only training."

Nodding in understanding, Peter cast his gaze outward and saw Glozelle gesturing from the sword training area. He appeared to be holding a long blade much like Rhindon – albeit one that was less striking without the golden hilt and intricate inscription.

Quentin followed Peter's gaze and shook his head lightly. "I'll try it," he said. "But only because it's probably a good idea. I don't think I'll ever be into clanking bits of metal together for fun."

Edmund laughed as the three boys walked toward the training field.

Oddly, neither Peter nor Edmund realized that they had left Lucy standing alone at the entrance to the fields. The young Queen was momentarily pained by their actions, but resolved that this was her chance to find a weapon that suited her.

The armory appeared to be pretty much deserted and so Lucy headed off in that direction. She'd seen battles from afar. Seen them close up. She had even occasionally participated, though always with a brother, sister, or all three of her siblings watching over her. It was high time she grew up and joined the elder Kings and Queen in defense of her country.

* * *

_On the archery field…_

Helen Pevensie watched as Susan notched a red-fletched arrow to the bowstring and brought the weapon up with practiced ease. Her daughter had donned a bracer on her left forearm and explained that it prevented the bowstring from scraping her arm when she fired off a shot. The strap of the bracer extended up and around her thumb, and she demonstrated how that would prevent injury to her hand when she let her arrow fly.

"I'll fire off a shot first," Susan said, drawing the bowstring back and tucking the end of the arrow up close to her cheek, although she was careful not to actually rest the fletchings against her skin. "Then you can try it. I'll walk you through it." Releasing the arrow lightly, both women watched it smack soundly into the center of the archery target across the field, the red fletchings quivering from the impact.

Helen's eyebrows rose. "Could you do that again?"

Susan nodded and whipped another arrow out of her quiver and onto the bowstring, letting it fly with another twang. It struck the target nearly in the same spot and set both arrow shafts quivering.

With a smile, she handed the bow to Helen, who had reluctantly put a bracer on her own arm earlier. Holding the bow lightly and away from her body, the woman looked uncertainly at Susan. "I'm not sure I can do this, Su."

"Nonsense," Susan said, her voice oddly grown-up. "There's not much to it, really. You'll be fine." Thinking for a moment, she decided to go ahead and tell Helen about the bow's extra feature. "When Father Christmas gave me this bow, he told me something about it. That if I believed in it, it would not easily miss. I expect it will work for you as well." She ignored the incredulous look on the woman's face. "Now…notch the arrow onto the bowstring…"

With the dark-haired Queen's help, Helen soon had the bow up and in firing position, her arm shaking lightly at the strain of holding the weapon in just the right place. Susan leaned in closer. "Now, just release the arrow."

Squinting lightly, Helen did so and jumped a little when the bowstring snapped forward, sending the arrow soaring across the field and into the target with a dull thud. Helen's eyes were wide as she took in the arrow at the edge of the target, but still _on_ the target.

Susan was beaming beside her. "Good shot!"

Helen let a small smile grace her face. "I'm surprised I hit it," she said with a small shake of her head. "I really didn't I would."

Her daughter patted her on the arm. "I knew you could do it, Mum," she said. "If you practice, you'll get faster and more accurate. Before we left Narnia the first time, I used to be able to fire off all of my arrows one after the other in only a few moments and hit all my targets."

Frowning, Helen handed the bow back to her daughter. "Why ever would you have to shoot so fast?" Inwardly, she knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from her daughter's mouth.

Susan hesitated. "Well, I mean, only when I wanted to practice or … or in battles," she said quietly. "Most of the time I didn't have to go so fast. We weren't in a whole lot battles, but when we were it was important."

Helen sighed but didn't press. It was still too hard to fathom her children in battle.

"I should like to go see Peter and Edmund," Helen said. "Will you be all right here?"

Susan nodded. "Oh yes, I usually practiced alone or just with my instructors," the young Queen said. "I'm sure you'll be impressed by Peter and Edmund. They're really very good."

The woman chose not to respond, only nod her head and turn toward the opposite end of the field where there was a faint ringing of metal on metal, though she couldn't really see what was going on just yet.

"Those boys better not be getting hurt," she muttered. "And I wonder where Lucy got off to…?"

* * *

_Sword training field…earlier…_

Peter took a moment to savor the sound of Rhindon sliding out of its sheath and glistening in the sunlight. He gazed fondly at the inscription on the blade, remembering countless times it had saved his life. How many times had he cleaned the blade off in the grass, on a ripped piece of tunic, or with a rag in his tent? His thoughts were interrupted when Quentin whistled.

"That's some sword, Peter," the young man said, eying Rhindon in Peter's hand. "You seem somewhat … attached to it. Missed it much?"

Peter chuckled. "I suppose I did miss it, Quen," he said, looking down at the blade one more time and swinging it from side to side, the blade glistening and reflecting the light of the day.

Smiling lightly, he turned to his friend and stepped closer to him. "When I got this from Father Christmas, I was a little uncertain too, although I did think that it was a very fine weapon. But over the years, I came to realize it was so much more. It sort of became an extension of me, and it signified my status as High King. I used this to Knight different Narnians. I used it when presiding over marriages and funerals." He sighed. "I did miss it. And everything that it represented."

Quentin remained silent. It was obviously Peter was far ahead of him in mental years, even though their bodies were the same age. He looked at the glistening sword and saw just that – a sword. Peter looked at it and saw something so much more.

It would take some getting used to, this new Peter Pevensie.

"So…" he said, trying to break the silence. "Care to show me what you can _**do**_ with that blade, Peter? I mean, I've seen Edmund fence and fight Mr. Hanson. But I've yet to see _**you**_ do anything more than swing Ed's swords around last night."

Peter smiled. "I'd love to, Quentin," he said. Looking up, he saw Glozelle approaching with a sword in his hands. "General!" he called out suddenly. "I don't think we've ever had a chance to spar. Care to have a go?"

Glozelle's eyes widened slightly. The last time he and Peter had fought was on opposite sides in a war. _**After**_ Peter had been sorely injured by Miraz. They had been fairly evenly matched then and he was keen on finding out just how good the young High King was. He had been more than a match for Miraz, but Glozelle had taught Miraz and Caspian. How would the young man fare against him?

"I would be honored, Your Majesty," Glozelle said, bowing his head lightly. "But first, I think this sword would suit your friend nicely. You are similar in build and it is close in size, weight and style to Rhindon."

The young man eyed the proffered sword with half-interest and half-trepidation. Gingerly reaching out, he took the sheathed weapon and drew it closer to his body, but not out of the sheath.

Clearing his throat, he looked up and smiled broadly at Peter. "Well, what are you waiting for? I'm ready to be wowed, Peter." To himself, he added, _and ready to hold off as long as I can before making a fool of myself with this sword…_

Behind him, Edmund was eying Peter and Glozelle. This was going to be good. He knew his brother was an expert swordsman, and he had fought Glozelle himself before and knew the Telmarine was exceptional as well.

"Come on," he said, tugging on Quentin's arm. "Let's back away and give them some room. I'm sure when Peter's done, he'll be happy to give you some pointers too. He's a better choice to teach you than I am, given my affinity for dual swords."

Nodding, Quentin didn't take his eyes off Peter and Glozelle as the two suited up in armor. Peter effortlessly donned armor on his legs, arms, one hand, chest, shoulders and head. He scooped up his shield and waited patiently across from where Glozelle had placed his helm on his head and was swinging his two swords swiftly to warm up.

"I'm ready when you are, King Peter," Glozelle suddenly said, halting all movement and holding his swords lightly at his sides.

Across from him, Peter nodded and replied, "I'm ready, General."

Raising his shield into position and readjusting his grip on Rhindon, Peter circled round Glozelle as the general held his swords up and ready to parry any attack the High King should make.

From the sidelines, Edmund could tell both men were lost in thought. Maybe remembering the last time they had fought. He knew, though, when Peter had dispelled the thoughts because the blond lunged forward and swung his blade from left to right across his body, forcing Glozelle to swiftly block and counter the attack.

Peter caught the counter on his shield and wasted no time swinging another fast and heavy blow toward Glozelle. Neither appeared to be pulling their strikes and Edmund could see Quentin cringe at the loud clanging impacts.

As the fight went on, Peter and Glozelle gave each other no quarter. Both had taken hard hits and both had faltered under them. But not wanting to end the fight, both men had waited for their opponent to recover before going on – not taking advantage of each other's momentary ailments.

To Edmund, it was obvious that Peter was just warming up.

To Quentin, it was difficult to tell who was faster – he just knew _**he**_ would never be able to fight like that. Every time the blade neared a body, he squinted his eyes closed just a little, anticipating the heavy sound of metal on metal.

As the fight progressed, Peter's true talent began to emerge and Glozelle found himself staring Rhindon's sharp tip and shining edge more than once. But High King Peter always pulled what would be a bout-ending blow just before it landed.

He was obviously prolonging the duel.

Glozelle grunted as Peter landed another hard strike on his upper back, knocking him forward. Pivoting as he took an unavoidable step forward, he managed to get his swords up and locked Rhindon between the blades for a moment.

Long enough to look toward Peter's face.

He wasn't surprised to see a smile on the young King's face as Peter expertly twisted Rhindon to disengage the blades and swung the sword of the High King with practiced precision toward Glozelle's chest.

Eyes narrowed, Glozelle stepped up his own level of skill and soon what had been a mere flurry of blows before, became more like a fierce whirlwind of strikes, thrusts, feints and dodges.

Edmund found himself once again amazed at Peter's prowess. At one time, he would have been feeling a decidedly different emotion. Jealousy. When they had first arrived in Cair Paravel and begun earnestly training under General Oreius, Edmund had found himself staring at the biting end of Rhindon many a time, and had almost always sighed in exasperation that Peter was better than him at yet another thing.

It had taken him time to find his own expertise. Something Peter _couldn't_ do as well as he. Dual-sword combat. It had made it much easier to appreciate his brother's talent when he wasn't too busy envying it.

Nudging Quentin, he drew the other boy's attention from the fight.

"Well, what do you think?"

Quentin swallowed. "I don't think I want to piss Peter off," he said slowly. "And I highly doubt I will _**ever**_ be able to do _**anything remotely**_ like that. No matter how long Peter tries to teach me."

Edmund patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Quen," he said cheerfully. "I don't know of anyone who _**could**_ come that close to Peter. Glozelle's holding his own, though, which is something to speak of. And I like to think I'm not too shabby myself."

They were interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps from behind and both young men turned to find Helen Pevensie halted in mid-step, foot still held just off the ground as if she had actually been frozen.

Her eyes were riveted on the dueling figures in the make-shift ring.

"My word," she whispered, placing her foot on the ground now and laying a shaking hand on Edmund's shoulder. "I know you told me about your skills, but…I admit I didn't think I would ever see _**this**_."

Inwardly, she was cringing every time the older man's blades came near Peter. Yes, he was wearing armor, but still – those were sharp swords and vicious blows. For a few moments, the three watched Peter and Glozelle continue to fight.

Both were beginning to show signs of tiring. Peter, though he was loathe to admit it, was a bit unused to such strenuous sword-fighting. He'd been limited in what physical activity he could do with his bum leg and this was the first real work-out he'd had in a long time. It was wearing on him, but his muscles remembered how to duel and were making up for it.

Seeing a strong opening, Peter smiled and struck out with Rhindon just as Glozelle completed a thrust that had left him slightly off-balance. The blow from the High King's blade was enough to send Glozelle crashing to the ground.

Only his years of training allowed the man to safely avoid both his swords as he went down, though he still grunted at the impact and remained down, panting heavily. He hadn't fought like that in years.

Tugging off his helm, Peter tossed the piece of armor to the side and shifted Rhindon to his shield hand, offering his right hand to Glozelle with a grin. "That was great," he said, breathing somewhat heavily but not gasping. "We must do it again sometime. You're quite good!"

Taking the hand offered to him, Glozelle let Peter help him to his feet and he sheathed one of his swords and removed his own helmet. "The pleasure, my King, was all mine," he said. "The legends do not do your skills justice. If I didn't know any better, I would guess you still practiced every day by that bout."

Peter chuckled. "Well, I've been told it must come naturally," he said with a small blush. "I'm sure there are those here who might give me a challenge." As he worked to regain control of his breathing, the young King turned his attention to the sidelines where he spied Edmund, Quentin – and Mrs. Pevensie.

It was obvious Helen was somewhat disturbed by what she had witnessed, but she didn't appear ready to drag him off by the ear and chastise him for engaging in something so dangerous.

Quentin reminded him of men who had seen their first bit of combat in the war and had been shocked into silence. He had that same dazed look in his eyes, as if he was wondering whether _**he'd**_ be called on to fight as well.

To be honest, Peter wasn't sure if he would or not. He hadn't thought when they had come through the wardrobe that he would be picking up a sword, leading a battle and dueling a well-trained Witch, all before his sixteenth birthday.

Seeing Quentin still precariously clutching the sword Glozelle had chosen for him, Peter stepped toward his brother and best friend. "Hey, Quentin," he said, smiling. "What to give that a try? I can walk you through a few basic blocks."

Looking down at his hands and the sword in them, the other boy let an audible puff of air out and grunted. "I guess," he said, his voice nearly a whine. "But I'm going to be _**really**_ bad at it. I have _**no**_ coordination."

Peter patted him on the shoulder as Edmund laughed and gathered up the bits of armor he had grabbed while Peter and Glozelle had been dueling. Handing pieces to Quentin, he let Peter talk his friend through strapping them on and quickly donned his own.

Laying aside one of his swords, Edmund stood at the ready facing Peter and Quentin. The latter had reluctantly pulled his borrowed sword from its sheath and was holding it awkwardly. Not unlike the way Edmund had first held his sword at Beruna.

Peter was quick to adjust his friend's grip and while the blond spoke in low tones about how to hold a sword and proper stances, Edmund chanced a glance toward Helen – who had engaged in a conversation with Glozelle just far enough away that he couldn't hear what they were saying.

"Are you set, Ed?"

Peter's voice drew his attention back to the task at hand and he saw Quentin shifting nervously from foot to foot in his stance. Peter walked gestured for Edmund to come closer. "I thought Quen could start with basic blocks," he said. "We can begin with strikes from the left. Once he's got that down, we can go to the right and then, when you're ready Quen, let Ed choose and you have to block whatever side he attacks from. But only when you're ready."

The other boy nodded slowly, tightening his hold on the sword.

Edmund chuckled. "Loosen up, Quen," he said. "I'm not going to gut you. Trust me, I have _**much**_ more control than that. As a matter of fact, it's usually more dangerous for the trainer than the trainee, since it's harder to predict what _**you**_ might do."

Seeing how nervous Quentin was, Peter frowned. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to, Quen," he said quietly. "Do you want to do something else?"

The other boy hesitated before answering. "I _**do**_ want to try, Pete," he said. "But I'm afraid of getting cut. I know we're wearing these things, but still…"

A small grin crossed Peter's face as he spun on his heel and hurried off to the nearby armory door and disappeared inside. In seconds, he emerged with another sword and tossed it toward Edmund, who scrambled to catch it.

Then Peter stepped up to Quentin and suddenly grasped the blade portion of the other boy's sword in his bare hand. "See, not sharp," he said. Quentin glared at him and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. He hadn't realized his blade was blunted. "And now Ed's using a practice sword as well. At most, you'll get a bruise or two. But we'll be going slow, so I doubt it."

Relaxing slightly, Quentin nodded that he was ready and Peter walked him through the first block by demonstrating with Rhindon. After a few repetitions, Peter nodded to Edmund, who stepped up and spoke.

"All right, I'm going to attack your left side, Quentin," he said. "Just do what Peter said and make sure to block _**away**_ from your body. I'll go easy and then step up the strength with each strike. That will let you get a feel for it."

Nodding again, Quentin steeled himself and when Edmund swung his sword, Quentin blocked it. He was caught off-guard by the sound of the swords impacting, but didn't jerk too badly.

"That was good," Peter said. "Try it again, a little harder this time. Don't let your arms get pushed back into you when Edmund's strikes get heavier."

For the next few minutes, the two boys attacked and blocked slowly and carefully. Gradually, Edmund's attacks came faster and harder and Quentin was forced to put more than a little effort into the blocks to keep them effective.

While it appeared he wasn't having too much trouble with the sword, Peter could tell that Quentin's heart wasn't in it and he knew that without that, Quentin would never be a swordsman. His friend was uncomfortable with the blade in his hands, with the motions needed and with the proximity the other blade came to him each time he and Edmund closed on each other.

Quentin wasn't one to complain, and he wasn't making a comment now, but Peter had known him long enough to read him. This wasn't his forte. Sighing, he halted the two younger boys.

"Hey Quen," he said. "You look tired. I know you're not used to sword-fighting, your arms must be shaking something fierce right now." And they were shaking, that was clearly visible. "Why don't you take a break? Maybe Ed and I can have a go?"

He cocked an eyebrow at his brother, whose face broke into a broad smile of anticipation. Taking that as a yes, the blond moved off to fetch his helm, noticing Glozelle was leaving the training field and Helen was drawing near. He hoped she didn't stop them.

"Are you three finished?" Helen asked, watching Peter straighten up from where he'd leaned down to get the metal helmet.

Biting his lip, Peter shook his head. "Well, Mum, Ed and I were going to face off for a bit. We haven't been able to spar for ages and wanted to give it a try." He looked over toward Edmund, his eyes begging for a little help here.

The younger boy, anxious as he was to spar Peter, hurried over. "Yeah, Mum," he said. "We'll be really careful. We hardly ever got hurt sparring each other, since we know each others' fighting style so well after all those years of training together."

Helen was distracted enough by the "all those years" comment, reminded that she had missed so much of their lives, that she nodded lightly and gave the boys the permission they felt they needed to duel.

Quentin, tired from his training session, flopped down onto the grass and was soon joined by Helen, who lowered herself with far more grace to the green ground beside him and settled in to watch Peter and Edmund.

This is what Quentin, at least, had been dying to see. And he wasn't disappointed either.

It was immediately evident that Peter and Edmund were closely matched and had done this once, or twice – or hundreds of times – before. Each seemed to know what the other would do before they did it, and the difference in their styles was striking.

Edmund fought fast and furious. His blows raining on Peter from both sides and from the top, occasionally even in an upward fashion. Peter's blows weren't as numerous, since he wielded only one sword, but they were just as fast in coming.

The metallic clangs that rent the air soon drew a crowd of Narnians and Telmarines to the training field. Neither Peter nor Edmund seemed to notice as they continued to barrage each other with strikes, thrusts and even the occasional shield push from Peter, fending off the whirlwind that was Edmund.

Peter knew Edmund was good.

But he had forgotten, momentarily, _**how**_ good as he was forced to give ground to his little brother at the start of their duel. Quentin wouldn't have noticed, but a seasoned fighter would have seen him startle at the ferocity that Edmund was fighting with.

But not one to back down from a challenge, Peter gritted his teeth and launched a series of blinding fast strikes at Edmund, driving the dark-haired King backwards. To avoid leaving the ring, Edmund threw himself to the right, but Peter was right there to keep up the attack and in a bit of desperation, the younger boy aimed a blow low to try and cause his brother to stumble.

It didn't work quite the way he had hoped because Peter must have seen it coming and used Edmund's slight bend forward as an opportunity to knock him to the ground with a well-placed strike to the back of his armor.

Before he ended up planted chest-down on the ground, Edmund tucked and rolled away, avoiding both sharp blades in his hands without having to relinquish his grip on either of them. Coming to his feet, she spun around to meet Peter's next attack, a small smile on his face as his brother's talent shone through again.

_**This**_ was the Peter he remembered.

And he happily let _**this**_ Peter drown out memories of the crippled one from England.

On the sidelines, amidst the whispering and pointing Narnians and Telmarines, Helen Pevensie watched her sons sparring and came to a painful realization.

She hardly knew her sons.

If it weren't for the familiar faces, she would have thought these two seasoned warriors were someone else. Nothing about their body language reminded her of her little boys. Nothing about their bearing in this strange world spoke of Peter and Edmund Pevensie. They all but screamed "King Edmund the Just" and "High King Peter the Magnificent" to her.

With a quiet sigh, she continued to study them – cringing when a strike made it through either of their nearly flawless defenses.

Beside her, Quentin was riveted by the action. He'd said it before since they'd arrived, but he imagined he'd be saying it an awful lot here – it was one thing to _**hear**_ about Peter and Edmund's fighting prowess, it was another thing to _**see**_ it. To hear the clanging metal. To see the heavy strikes. To watch them block, parry, thrust and strike across the ring and back again. Over and over. Like they would never tire.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was really only a few minutes, Edmund finally faltered enough for Peter to take him to the ground and bring Rhindon to a hover at the younger King's throat.

Edmund, arms and swords flung to the sides, chest heaving from the exertion, nodded his defeat and Peter drew back, sheathing Rhindon and then extended a hand to help the younger boy up.

Pulling off their helmets, both grinning broadly, the brothers hugged awkwardly around their armor. "Great match, Ed," Peter said. "You nearly had me loads of times out there. You just keep getting better. Someday, I think you'll be better than me."

Edmund couldn't help the blush that crept up on his cheeks and was rather glad he was so winded and could chalk it up to perspiration. "Nah," he said, patting his brother. "You're just a little out of practice."

Both boys looked up at the chuckles that comment drew and realized with a start that they had drawn quite the audience. Who were obviously finding the idea that Peter was "out of practice" unbelievable.

Used to the looks of awed masses, Peter and Edmund were able to pretty much ignore the banter and cheering and focus their attention on the two figures who were now standing awkwardly in the crowd.

Helen's eyes shone with sorrow, which surprised and confused both the boys. Quentin's were alight with a million questions. While he didn't like sword-fighting much, he _**did**_ want to ask Peter and Edmund all sorts of questions about their skills, nonetheless.

But with an obviously disturbed Helen Pevensie beside him, he refrained from enthusiastically jumping about and rapid-fire questioning. Instead, he said nothing and watched as Peter and Edmund drew up in front of their mother, both with chagrined looks on their faces.

"Mum?" Edmund asked quietly. "Mum, uh. Are you…are you all right?"

He was stuttering, and inwardly thought to himself, _I haven't stuttered in Narnia in ages…_ But something about facing his mother always brought out the little boy in him and now was no different. Even though he was holding two very sharp, very deadly swords in his hands and had just been wielding them quite spectacularly.

Peter was no better beside him, nervously tightening and relaxing his grip on Rhindon and bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he awaited the woman's response.

Helen, unable to control her emotions, clasped her hands together in front of her. "My boys," she said. "You're all grown up and I missed it. I just…I just can't come to grips with it all. It's so much. I…I can tell you're both very good with your swords. But, I kept on imagining one of you hurt and bleeding."

Both knew it could have happened. No matter how careful you were, accidents could happen. Perhaps that is why they weren't in the least embarrassed when the woman drew both of them into an embrace – in front of everyone else.

They had expected anger. They had even expected her to put on her best "I'm your mother, you will listen to me" face. But they hadn't expected tears. And had no idea what to do about them.

Finally, Peter managed to draw back and look Helen in the eyes.

"We're fine, Mum," he said. "And I know you missed out on a lot, but we'll tell you everything we can and we'll make sure we're as careful as we can be. Narnia needs us, and I think you know that. But, if you and Quentin are here, Narnia must need _**you two**_for some reason, as well. I know you're both strong enough for whatever it is that called you here."

Seeing the masses dispersing, he looked off toward the archery field.

"Why don't we go see if Susan is ready to go have lunch?" he said. "It'll be time for mid-day meal in about two hours and we'll all need to change for the occasion. Ed and I especially, I think."

Both boys were dripping with sweat and probably a bit rank as well. Helen nodded her consent, but Edmund frowned and shook his head. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get a head start," he said. "Besides, we can't all use the bath at the same time. So I'll volunteer to go first."

Peter's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "All right, meet you in the room," he said, throwing his brother one last glance as he led Helen and Quen off toward the archery field.

Edmund, after replacing the armor he'd borrowed in the armory, hurried off. His destination – the throne room where Caspian was holding court. He was dying to know how the Telmarine King had assimilated the information he'd given him on creating an effective Narnian/Telmarine justice system. Now was his chance to find out how Caspian had done.

* * *

_Elsewhere in the training fields…_

With a quiet sigh, Lucy slumped onto a bench and let her elbows rest on her knees and her chin fall into her open hands. She'd combed every inch of the training grounds and hadn't found what she sought.

There were all sorts of weapons here. But they weren't suited to her and none of them jumped out as something she'd excel in. Not for the first time, Lucy despised being the youngest of four siblings. The youngest monarch. Sometimes she felt so useless.

"Sure, faith is a wonderful trait," she said under her breath, "but it doesn't protect my brothers and sister. And it won't protect Quentin and Mum, or Narnia. Or help find Miriam."

She nearly lost her balance and fell from the bench when a voiced broke the silence of the day at her left ear.

"It might not win battles, but it _**did**_ bring about the end of a war."

Lucy looked up and took in the smiling visage of General Glozelle. He gestured at the seat beside her. "May I, Your Majesty?"

Nodding, Lucy indicated her consent and Glozelle stepped over the bench and sat down beside her. She eyed him out of the corner of her eye, but said nothing, instead choosing to see if he would continue his train of thought.

He did.

"You seem conflicted, Queen Lucy," he said. "Like you want to help Narnia by fighting her battles. But not as you once did, this time as a warrior. Why do you want to do this, my Queen?"

For a moment, Lucy didn't answer. She didn't' really know _**why**_ she wanted to fight, just that she did. And that she probably always had wanted to, believing that bravery meant fighting for what you believed in.

When she had been older, the first time in Narnia, she had often joined the archers and her sister during battles. And she had taken down many a foe. But ever since their last foray into Narnia, she had been feeling useless.

Aslan had gently chided her for these feelings, but she kept coming back to them.

"I suppose I just want to _**do**_ more, General," she finally said. "I know I did find Aslan, and he turned the tide of the battle at the How. But…I guess I've always watched Peter, Edmund and Susan and wanted to be like them. Maybe all younger siblings feel like that. They look up to and want to emulate their brothers and sisters. For me, it's so much harder since we're Kings and Queens and Peter and Ed are great swordsmen and Su a great archer. I'm what? A great morale booster? A great searcher and keeper of faith? It's not tangible."

She kicked at the ground at her feet. "I just want to be good at something like they are. But I can't find anything that really seems to suit me. I've looked -- I just walked all through these grounds and found nothing."

For a moment, the man beside her didn't respond. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "If you want to learn a weapon-form, simply to feel important like your brothers and sister, then you want it for the wrong reason."

Lucy momentarily bristled, but then simmered down. He had a good point. Was the only reason she wanted to find her own weapon because she was jealous? Because jealousy _**was**_ a horrible reason to learn a fighting style.

Her mind whirled around the question. And it came up with one response.

"I don't just want to do it because of my own vanity," she said quietly. "I can't protect my friends and family with faith, General. And that's what I really want to do. Protect my brothers and sister, my Mum and Quentin. All of Narnia. I'm young, but I wasn't always young and I miss being able to defend my country and my family."

Glozelle ran a shaky hand through his hair. What he was about to do might put him on the High King's, Just King's and Gentle Queen's bad sides. Not to mention how it might anger the young monarchs' mother…

But, the young woman beside him intrigued him. She reminded him strongly of Miriam. And he never _**could**_ deny his daughter anything. So he made up his mind and stood, extending a hand to Lucy.

"Your Majesty, there is something I dare say you did _**not**_ see during your wanderings," he said. "I think it might be just the thing you're looking for."

Lucy eyed the man's outstretched hand. Then, meeting his eyes, she grasped it and allowed him to help her to her feet and lead her off toward a small cottage near the edge of the training field.

Pushing the door open, he led her inside and left her standing in the middle of what was a small, cozy living room. _This must be his house_, Lucy thought to herself as she glanced around. It was a bit of a surprise, because as a Lord, (and the head of the army) the General easily rated quarters inside the Cair itself.

Her perusal was short-lived as Glozelle soon returned – carrying a long, smooth stick.

"Here," he said, handing it to her.

Lucy looked at the stick with confusion. "What? I don't understand. You gave me a stick, General."

Glozelle chuckled. "No, I gave you a staff," he said. "And it is far more than just a mere stick, though it _is_ only wood." He extended his hand and gestured for her to stand back as he took the staff back. Swiftly, he spun the staff with stunning speed, the wooden weapon making a swooping noise as it cut through the air. He let it hit a garment rack at the edge of the room and the rack, wooden as well, snapped effortlessly in two and fell to the ground. The staff was unblemished. "Imagine what it would have done to a living being," he said offhandedly. "It's a formidable weapon."

Lucy was no longer looking at the staff with derision. Now, she was looking at it with longing. "Can you teach me to use it?" she asked, reaching out to take it from his hands again, this time running her own small hands over the smooth wood.

Glozelle watched her lightly grip the staff and swallowed the lump in his throat. "I can," he said. "I've taught one other the art of the staff. One very, very much like you. My daughter."

Lucy's head snapped up. "Miriam," she said quietly. "I should very much like to learn it and put it to use helping you get her back, General," she said, looking up at him with fire and determination in her eyes.

Glozelle could see the fierce expression in her eyes, as well as her sincerity. "Then it will be my honor to teach you, Queen Lucy."


	6. Chapter 6

_Author/Beta's Note: Hey everyone! Our sincerest apologies go out for the delay in getting this chapter out. It just seems like the real world has been conspiring against us since the last update. Gwenneth has been battling weather, illness, and broken computers, while I've been dealing with losing my job and moving back home for another semester. But, against all odds, we managed to get together and get this chapter ready, just in time for Christmas! We hope that you enjoy and thank you so much for your patience! Don't forget to review!_

_A/N 2: I'll be totally honest, I'm not positive when the next chapter will be up. My grandpa just died and then we have Christmas to contend with. BUT, you'll be pleased to know Phoenixqueen is visiting me after Christmas and has graciously volunteered to watch my kids while I write…so maybe…just maybe…a New Year's chapter! (No promises though…)_

**Part Six:**

Edmund stared at the door in front of him and wondered if he should go through it.

Would Caspian feel like he was being "checked up on" if Edmund were to saunter into court and watch the proceedings? There weren't enough people at this session for him to just sort of _blend_ _in_ with the crowd, otherwise he'd have slipped into the throne room already. Instead, he was standing outside a side-door, shifting from foot to foot.

_What should I do? _he thought to himself. _I don't want Caspian thinking I don't have faith in his abilities. But I also can't really see how things are going from out here. How has he managed to integrate the Narnian and the Telmarine laws? How can he settle things between a Narnian and a Telmarine who are arguing and make sure that both parties are satisfied? Not to mention, eavesdropping isn't very _kingly_._

From his position just outside the throne room, Edmund could hear what was going on at court as he contemplated going in or staying out and he smiled to himself as Caspian effortlessly settled a minor border dispute. There was some yelling, but it was quickly quelled by a stern reprimand from the young monarch.

It seemed like Caspian had taken everything Edmund had told him to heart. The Just King couldn't decide what he was feeling – was it relief that Caspian was obviously well-suited to the job? Or disappointment that he seemed to be no longer needed? That Narnia had gone on without him and his brother and sisters, and would continue to do so, even though they had returned?

Lost in thought, he missed the announcement of the next person calling on Caspian's mediation skills. But a few moments later, he _couldn't _miss the exclamation that erupted from behind the closed door in front of him.

"What? You say someone has built a castle? In Narnia?"

Edmund's eyes narrowed. Someone had built a castle? Surely not...

Leaning forward, Edmund made to open the door, wanting to catch the response to Caspian's shouted question – his decision on whether to go in or stay out rendered moot.

He didn't realize the door wasn't latched and he couldn't stop it before it swung open and he wobbled for a split second to catch himself before he could stumble like a drunken fool.

The door creaked loudly and the sound echoed across the room.

All eyes locked on the dark-haired king, freshly bathed and dressed for court. He blushed at the looks on the faces of those assembled. _They must think I was eavesdropping, _he thought to himself with a sigh_. I suppose I was since I couldn't make up my mind about coming in here._

There was a barely restrained smirk on Caspian's face at Edmund's blush, but it was mostly clouded with worry. Choosing to ignore the fact that King Edmund had just appeared, somewhat reluctantly it would seem, in the throne room, he turned back to the man standing in front of the dais.

"Sir, would you please repeat what you just told me? I don't think I heard you correctly," Caspian said, gesturing to the man to speak freely.

Edmund knew it was for his benefit and nodded lightly to Caspian and stood as regally as he could manage in his embarrassment.

The man, dressed in a farmer's tunic and pants, shifted from foot to foot and glanced toward Edmund before returning his focus to Caspian. "I was harvestin' me farthest field when I seen something strange," he said. "There was a pointy castle where there weren't one before! Done built it right quick, they musta. And there was men going in there. Dark-haired men."

Edmund couldn't help himself when Caspian said nothing. "Pointy castle? And it hadn't been there last time you worked the field? That seems, odd. I mean, how quickly can one build an entire castle? Where is this castle, sir?"

"Well me land is just north of the Western Woods, sir," the farmer said.

Edmund gulped back the lump in his throat. "Well that _is_ something," he muttered.

Caspian's eyes narrowed. "What is something, King Edmund?"

The farmer turned quickly to look at the younger King as Caspian identified him. "King Edmund? From the Golden Age?"

Edmund nodded.

The farmer looked shocked. "I been hearin' stories 'bout you from the Narnians who live near me land…but 'cording to them that was centuries agone."

Edmund just shrugged. "Let's just say that magic has summoned my siblings and I back to Narnia in her time of need."

The farmer looked very impressed, but Caspian quickly steered the conversation back on track. "King Edmund? You were saying something?"

Drawing in a breath, Edmund looked over at Caspian. "North of the Western Woods and the Beaver's Dam is a place I know all too well," he said. "And many years ago, there used to be a castle in that area between the Lantern Waste and Ettinsmoor."

He paused. "The Witch's castle."

The Witch's castle had thawed, for lack of a better word, after the Witch's power had diminished. But even so, it had always been cold to Edmund. He had been glad when he and his siblings had witnessed its destruction. Now, to hear that it could possibly be rebuilt and occupied drove a thrill of fear into Edmund's heart.

Who would want to live there?

Surely not someone good.

Caspian, seeing Edmund lost in his thoughts, turned to the farmer. "Is there anything else you noted, sir?"

The man nodded fervently. "Oh yes. There was singing, Sire! Beautiful singing!"

The young King perked up at that. "What did you hear? And why would you say it was noteworthy?"

Instead of replying, the man began to hum a tune. As he did so, Caspian's eyes widened and he had to restrain himself from standing and shaking the man into telling him where he had heard this song.

He knew this song. Knew it well.

It was one of Miriam's favorites.

Composing himself, he spoke slowly. "So you say the singing came from this castle? Can you tell me, did you ever see the woman?"

The farmer shook his head lightly. "No, King Caspian. Which is why I thought it was odd, cuz I never seen no woman. I just be hearin' the beautiful singing, my King," he said. "A voice like an angel, she has. Found meself droppin' me work to listen, I did. I heard it a few times in the past two weeks, but it was near three days before I left that last I hear it. I miss that singing."

Sitting back in his throne, Caspian let his head rest on his palm. Could it be? Could the beautiful voice have been Miriam's? Was Karis holed up in a new castle where the Witch's castle had once stood?

Edmund was thinking along similar lines.

"I think this merits some investigation," he said, speaking directly to Caspian. "And fast."

Nodding, Caspian thanked the old farmer, dismissed him, and then announced that court was finished for the day and would resume the day after tomorrow at the same time barring any unforeseen incidents.

As soon as the last person left the room, the young Telmarine fairly jumped from his throne and hurried to Edmund's side. "This might be the break we needed," he said excitedly. "We might have found her, without meeting Karis."

Edmund hated to be the one to wipe that smile off Caspian's face. "We might have," he said quietly. "But the farmer said he hasn't heard the voice in days, and it must have taken him at least two days to get here from his farm. She might have been there, and have since been moved. Meeting Karis is still going to have to happen. There's no way we can organize a party to go to the Witch's castle before that meeting and we can't afford to miss it if we _haven't_ got Miriam in our midst."

Caspian deflated some at that.

"Of course, you're right," he said, turning away. "We have to meet with him. We can't just assume that a beautiful voice is Miriam. And perhaps the men at the castle have nothing to do with Karis. It just seemed so … so perfect."

Edmund chuckled. "A bit like a fairytale of old," he said. "Unfortunately, things don't usually pan out like that. But keep your chin up, Caspian, because we _will _find Miriam. You'll see."

Sighing, the King nodded. "Thanks, Edmund." Taking in the still damp hair, he chose to change the subject. "Did you and your family enjoy the training fields? I've already heard the talk circulating about the 'amazing duel between King Peter and King Edmund' and I'm dying to hear about it."

The younger King laughed. "Oh yes, we drew a bit of a crowd," he said with a smile. "But I think you'd much rather hear about the duel between Peter and General Glozelle."

Caspian's eyes widened. "They didn't?"

Edmund nodded. "Oh yes they did, and let me tell you, it was bloody amazing!"

The other King cocked his head. "Bloody? Did someone get hurt?"

Realizing what he'd said, Edmund burst out laughing. It took a moment before he was able to respond to Caspian's question. "No…" he panted. "No one got hurt. It's…it's just something we say back home. Bloody hell, bloody amazing, bloody this or that. Sort of like a way of saying it's _really_ amazing, I guess."

Caspian shook his head.

"You come from a strange land, King Edmund. Why not just say _really_ in such an instance?"

Edmund frowned. "I haven't a clue, Caspian. We just don't."

Shrugging, the other King gestured for Edmund to leave the throne room before him and then nodded lightly to the young Faun who was acting as herald as he closed the heavy wooden door behind the two Kings.

* * *

_Archery field …_

Susan shook her head in exasperation.

Something just felt _off_ about her shots. They were hitting the target, yes, but not dead-on like they used to be and knew she wasn't doing anything differently than she had been before.

So why was this happening?

"Oy! Susan!"

Looking up, Susan spied a widely-grinning Peter leading Helen and Quentin toward her. Her brother was fairly glowing with happiness and it brought a smile to her face, despite her troubles.

"Hey," she said in response, her gaze shifting toward Quentin. "How was it? Did you enjoy trying your hand at sword-fighting?"

The boy shook his head and scrunched his nose up.

"I don't think the sword is the weapon for me," he said. "I didn't feel at all comfortable with it. Spent too much time worrying about getting hit that I didn't have a chance to enjoy it." He gestured to her far-off target. "Did you really shoot all those? You must be really good!"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Oh now you've done it," he said with a laugh. "She'll go on and on forever about it!" He jumped nimbly aside as Susan tried to swat him for his cheek and blushed when Helen swooped in and did it for her daughter. "Hey now, no ganging up on me!"

Susan laughed. "Served you right, Peter," she said. "Not everything is about the sword. I happen to think a bow is a very formidable weapon, and you would do well to remember that. After all, I don't have to be anywhere near you to defeat you, do I?"

Sobering, he shook his head. "No, you don't. And I expect you've taken out far more enemies than Edmund and I combined with that bow of yours." He turned to Quentin. "She's really good."

Stepping a bit closer, the other boy frowned. "Could you show me? Do you have time?"

Susan, always happy to show others the pleasure of archery, nodded happily. "Oh we've got plenty of time," she said. "Come over here, I'll show you and then maybe you can give it a go. If the sword isn't your thing, maybe the bow will suit you better."

Peter and Helen watched from the side while Susan strung and shot off an arrow.

To Peter, it appeared all was normal. To Susan, she was surprised to note that her last shot had been the best of the day. _I wonder why that is?_ she thought to herself. _I didn't really do anything different_.

Pushing the thought aside, she held her bow out to Quentin. He hesitated only a moment before grasping it and holding it out in front of him. It was beautiful and couldn't help but smile as he looked it over. It was far less intimidating than a great, big ruddy sword.

The young Queen showed him how to properly notch the arrow, how to hold the bow when drawn and how to aim at the target. When he'd done that in sequence a few times, she instructed him to fire the arrow on the next round.

He did so and watched with wide eyes as the red-fletched projectile slammed into the center of the target. Quentin nearly dropped the bow when he realized what he'd just done.

Behind him, Peter let out a whoop and hurried forward, patting him on the back.

"That was brilliant, Quen!" he called out. "Looks like we have a winner!"

Quentin blushed and smiled lightly. "Well, it _could_ have been beginner's luck, Pete," he said slowly. But a grin spread across his face as he continued, "I think I might have to try that again…just to be sure and all."

Susan handed him another arrow and he went through the motions again.

With nearly the same results as the arrow hit the target, slightly off-center, but still amazingly accurate.

Now he knew it wasn't a fluke.

He felt like jumping up and down like a primary school boy. Glancing sidelong toward Susan, he decided that would make him look like a fool and he did _not_ want to do that in front of her. So he settled for being sedate.

"I think I could learn to like this archery thing," he said. "Suppose there's a spare bow and arrows around? I haven't any use for that sword anymore!"

Peter nodded. "I'm sure there is, Quentin. We'll have to ask General Glozelle at the next meal." He frowned. "Speaking of the next meal, we'd best get ready." The others agreed and soon the four of them were heading back toward the castle and their respective rooms.

As they walked, Susan found herself wondering if her bow had helped Quentin's accuracy. She'd kept the thought to herself on the field – she didn't want to hurt his feelings, or seem like she was _jealous _that someone else seemed to have archery prowess.

Sighing, she pulled back from her thoughts and nodded lightly to her mother when the woman began to chatter about her, Peter and Edmund's weapons skills.

* * *

Peter and Quentin were trading light-hearted insults – the former about Quentin's abysmal sword skills and the latter about Peter getting trounced time and time again by his mother, despite the fact he was a King here.

It was all in good fun, but part of Peter _had_ noticed his mother's ability to make him squirm in his boots and he realized he'd have to get over it or talk to her about it. It wouldn't be a good thing if the people saw one of those instances, even though she _was_ his mother.

Pushing open the door he was surprised to find Edmund pacing up and down the center of the room between the two beds, hands tucked behind his back the way he used to behave when he was contemplating a particularly difficult matter of court or was disturbed by something.

"Edmund?" Peter said warily, not wanting to startle his brother, who appeared to be deep in thought. Beside the blonde, Quentin stopped speaking and stood quietly outside the room while Peter moved closer to his brother.

Edmund had looked up at the call and stopped pacing. He plastered a smile on his face, but Peter knew that fake smile a mile away. And he called the dark-haired boy on it. "What's wrong, Edmund? Has there been word on Miriam?"

Frowning, the younger King shook his head. "No, Peter. But there was a matter at court that might mean something. Caspian has called a meeting for after the noon meal to discuss it. I'm fine."

Eyes narrowed, Peter gestured toward the area Edmund had been traversing. "You only pace when something is bothering you, Ed. Is it to do with this 'matter at court'? What happened? Were you there?"

Edmund nodded. "I overheard it, yes, but I think it best that we wait for Caspian and the others. No sense in explaining it more than once, after all," he said. Inwardly, he had another – more personal – reason for not wishing to do the explaining. He didn't want to think about the White Witch anymore than he absolutely had to and mention of her castle was making it very hard _not_ to think of her.

He had thought he was over it. His betrayal and his actions during that first foray into Narnia. And he did know it was behind him. But mention of the castle had brought back his memories of his time in the Witch's captivity. Of his first meeting with Mr. Tumnus and the look in the Faun's eyes when he had been told that it was because of _Edmund_ that he had been arrested. Of facing Jadis to save Peter's life inside the How. Of her final words, "_I'll never leave you. I'm a part of you, traitor_."

"Edmund, you can't pull the wool over my eyes," Peter said with a sigh. "I know you all too well. This is really bothering you, whatever it is. I wish you'd tell me."

Edmund didn't respond, just watched his brother linger a moment longer hoping for an answer before sighing again and heading into the washroom to clean up. Quentin chose that moment to come into the room and nodded at Edmund before slumping on the bed uncertainly.

He had no idea if he should take it upon himself to go find a change of clothes, or wait for Peter to help him out as he had previous times. The older boy watched Edmund out of the corner of his eye, noting how it appeared the young King wanted to start pacing again.

Realizing he had an audience, Edmund looked up and smiled wanly at Quentin. "So did you get to see Susan and her archery skills? I know you were going over there after I left you guys."

Quentin perked up and nodded enthusiastically. "She's brilliant," he said. "And it looks like I might be better at archery than I will ever be at sword-fighting. I nailed the target _twice_; right in the center. It was wicked!"

The younger boy chuckled. "Well that's good then," he said. "At least you found something you'll be good at. And it looks like you liked it, what with that great big smile on your face and all."

He moved over to stand beside Quentin and nudged the other boy's shoulder. "Come on, let's find you something to wear. Maybe then Pete won't nag me when he gets out of the bathroom."

"He just cares," Quentin said with a small shake of his head. "I sometimes wish I was as close to my brother as you and your siblings are to each other. But, I won't push you either. So … to the closet, good King."

* * *

Lucy lowered the staff and looked up at General Glozelle, who was watching her with a critical look. She took several deep breaths and resisted the urge to push a stray strand of hair out of her eyes as she waited for him to say something.

After a moment he nodded. "You did very well, Queen Lucy. I think this might be the right weapon for you. It'll extend your reach a lot more than a sword would, but it will keep you out of close combat at the same time once you learn to use it properly."

Lucy smiled and handed him the staff. "I think I'll enjoy it. The sword never felt right to me, either when Peter or Edmund tried to teach me their own styles. The bow was all right, but still just didn't feel right, and using my dagger would put me even closer to an enemy than the sword, which none of my siblings wanted, so I didn't get much training in that either. But this," she glanced at the staff the general held, "it just feels right."

Glozelle nodded. "That's an excellent way to know if it'll be worth putting in the time and training to learn a weapon-form. If you're not happy with the weapon, you won't put out the same effort you would for a weapon that you are happy with." He moved over towards the back of the cottage and leaned the staff against the wall. "It will take a great deal more training, Your Majesty, but since you have no bad habits to unlearn, you'll pick it up a lot faster than if you were coming to this already knowing how to swing a sword."

Lucy nodded and then glanced at the sun before gasping. "Oh no…I need to get back and meet the others for lunch. They'll be wondering where I am!" she cried and grabbed for the skirt of her dress, hiking it up above her ankles so she could run. As she turned to go, she paused and turned back. "Thank you General. I'll come and find you tomorrow when I have a chance." That said, she turned and started running up towards the castle, taking a more indirect route so that no one would observe one of the Queens of Old running like a nest of bees was on her heels.

As she reached the side door to the Cair, she slowed and dropped her skirt, taking a moment to compose herself as she slipped inside, although she knew she probably looked a fright, with her flushed face and wind-blown, damp hair. As she hurried through the halls, she mentally praised her old friend Mr. Tumnus for leaving such detailed drawings of the Cair, Caspian for choosing to rebuild Cair Paravel as close to the original as possible, and the architects and builders for being able to turn Tumnus' drawings into a reality. She was able to take little-known side corridors and stairs that kept her away from the most occupied areas of the Cair as she made her way up to her room.

She reached the room she was sharing with Susan and her mother and eased the door open, praying that the room would be empty so she'd have time to wash and change before they had to go to the noon meal. Unfortunately, her luck ran out, as Susan and Helen were both in the room putting the finishing touches on their hair and clothes for lunch. Both of them turned as the door opened and both of their eyes widened at the sight of a sweaty and disheveled Lucy slipping into the room.

"Lucy, where have you been? What have you been doing?" Susan cried, shocked at her sister's appearance.

For a moment, Lucy was caught without an explanation. She really didn't want her siblings or her mother to know what she was doing, or they would try to stop her. But if she could demonstrate proficiency with the weapon of her choice, prove that she could use it and keep herself alive, they wouldn't have any choice but to allow her to continue her lessons with the General. Yes, she was a Queen, but her siblings were also older than she was, and if all three of them joined forces, she knew that she'd give into them, and this time she was not going to.

And her mother…it went without saying _she_ wouldn't want her youngest daughter learning to fight.

"I…I was just taking a walk around the gardens to see how much they looked like the Cair when we lived here, and then I stopped to watch some of the Narnians sparring with the Telmarines and I lost track of the time. It was warm out there, and I didn't want to hold you up for lunch, so I ran back here," she managed after a moment. "I had to take a long way back so that no one would see me running."

Susan eyed her younger sister skeptically, although Helen seemed to believe her youngest daughter, but after a moment, the older Queen nodded. "Hurry up and wash and get changed, Lu. I'll bring you a new dress."

"Thanks, Su," Lucy replied gratefully, slipping past the other two women and heading for the washroom.

As she shed her dress and reached for a washcloth to clean herself up, the door to the washroom eased open and Susan reached inside with a new dress for her sister and hung it on the hook on the back of the door. "Hurry up, Lu. Peter, Quen, and Ed are waiting for us."

"I'll be just a minute," she promised.

Quickly washing her face, hands, and arms, she felt a lot better. When the General had told her he would teach her the staff, she hadn't expected that he would want to start right at that moment. Never having had any real weapons training, he had taken her right to the beginning, but he had pushed her hard, saying only that if she wasn't willing to work hard, it wasn't worth attempting. He was right, but if she'd been aware of the time, she would have asked him to wait until later that day when she could slip away quietly.

She ran a brush through her hair, settling it back into place before she quickly plaited both sides of her hair and pulled them back into a crown-like style that would give her the appearance of wearing a crown without actually doing so. Then she reached for the dress that Susan had chosen, a beautiful silk gown in a pale cream with gold embroidery around the neck and hem. She slipped it on over her head, and studied herself in the mirror. Her face still looked flushed, but now that she didn't look sweaty, it only gave her an appearance of youth and vibrancy, which was a much better look than if she had appeared to have just been put through one of the most intense training sessions she'd ever had.

Re-entering the room, she quickly turned so Susan could lace up the back of her dress before reaching for the matching shoes that Susan had left lying next to the bed and slipped them on. "All right, I'm ready," she declared as she slipped her belt on around her waist, her cordial and dagger prominently visible. Of the four of them, she was the only one who routinely wore her gifts out in public, since on her belt they were easily accessible, yet didn't distract from what was going on. And in the early years of their reign, both Edmund and Peter had felt better knowing that she had her dagger with her at all times, since they were still actively searching out the remnants of the Witch's army. Peter was the only other one who tended to display his gifts prominently, although most often it was only Rhindon he carried, not his shield.

Susan opened the door and greeted the boys, who were waiting patiently for the three of them. Before anyone could say anything, Quentin offered to escort Susan down to lunch, and Edmund offered his arm to their mother, leaving Peter to escort Lucy down, a wide smile on his face as he offered her his arm in a courtly fashion, making everyone giggle when she playfully slapped him for acting like a goose.

As they walked down the hallways, Lucy's thoughts turned back to her lesson, running the things that the General had taught her over and over in her mind so she wouldn't forget them before her next lesson. _At least the others don't know yet. Please, Aslan, let me be able to keep this from them until I'm ready to prove that I can stand with them and defend Narnia._

* * *

Quen sat at the High Table, looking out at the members of Caspian's court who had gathered for the noon meal. As odd as it seemed, he was actually getting used to the idea of these meals and being on display in front of everyone. He hadn't thought that would ever be possible, especially not after just two meals.

Glancing down the table, he focused on the middle cluster of seats where his best friend and his siblings all sat together with Caspian. Looking at them now, relaxed and chatting quietly among themselves, yet still eating with impeccable manners and posture, Quentin found that he just couldn't wrap his head around it.

They were so _comfortable_ here, as if this was where they really belonged. Sure, he'd seen them in their formal outfits, with their crowns on their heads, their posture and attitudes all screaming that they were royal, but just to look at them, you'd never know that all of this came from training and experience. Sitting here, watching them, he would have been willing to swear that the four of them had been born to be royal, and some part of him wondered if even King George VI, born into a long established royal family could even tell that Peter and his siblings were not royalty by birth.

He shook his head, somewhat amused at the turn his thoughts had taken. He was brought back to attention as Caspian and the four Pevensies rose to their feet and he hastened to do so as well, followed by the rest of the assembly. As he watched their graceful movements and the way they carried themselves, the thought occurred to him: did he really know this Peter at all? Was he looking at the same boy that he had been best friends with since they both started school?

As Peter and the others filed past him on their way to the scheduled meeting in the library, he looked hesitantly at Edmund, wondering if he should go along or if he would just be in the way. He wanted to help if he could, after all, Peter had said something about Narnia needing him, that he wouldn't be here if he didn't have some part to play, but he didn't know anything about Narnia except what Peter and Edmund told him.

Edmund seemed to interpret Quen's look and nodded for Quen to follow them as they retreated to the library with the rest of Caspian's council.

* * *

Peter looked over at Caspian and nodded as everyone gathered around the table. "Caspian, Edmund mentioned that something happened at Court today that could have an impact on the meeting with Karis tomorrow."

Caspian nodded and quickly related the farmer's story about the castle that had sprung up out of nowhere, and how Edmund had identified it as possibly being in the same location as the castle that had belonged to the White Witch.

The news brought a small murmur among the rest of the gathered group and some skeptical looks from others. Peter looked around the room as everyone fell silent before he turned back to the older King. "Caspian, I agree that it is unusual for a castle to suddenly be there, but there's no proof that it belongs to Karis. At the very least, you'll need to do something about it, because people just can't go around building castles arbitrarily."

Caspian nodded. "Of course, and you would be right, of course, Peter, but there's something else. He also mentioned that he heard singing coming from the castle. A beautiful woman's voice. He hummed part of the song he heard her singing, and Peter…I recognized the song. It was one of Miriam's favorites, and it's a relatively new song. One of the Fauns living in this area just performed it for the first time a few weeks ago. It wouldn't have had time to spread all across Narnia yet. Only someone who was at the Cair when it was performed would know it well enough to be able to sing it."

Peter's frown deepened. "That might be true, Caspian, but there's no way that we can make it all the way up to the castle and back in time for the meeting tomorrow, and we can't afford to miss it."

Caspian sighed and nodded. "I know. Edmund already pointed that out to me, but it's more of a lead than anything that we've had since she went missing."

Peter eyed his brother, having some idea now about what had made Edmund so agitated earlier. Anything involving the Witch always brought Edmund to a place, emotionally, that he didn't really want to be. He had gotten past his actions when they first entered Narnia, but at the same time it was still a sore subject for him, and all of them knew to be cautious when broaching the topic. For the most part, they didn't discuss it. They had taken Aslan's words to heart when he had told them that there was no need to discuss Edmund's actions because they were in the past.

Edmund looked up and caught Peter's eye and Peter nodded at him and gave him a look which clearly said, _We're talking later_. Edmund sighed inaudibly and nodded, knowing that Peter wouldn't be denied on this issue.

"Our best choice at this moment is to go along with Edmund's plan and meet with Karis at the place that he chose," Peter stated. "Caspian, where is this meeting place?"

"Owlwood," Caspian replied. "Miriam and I were returning from negotiations in the area."

Nodding, Edmund spoke. "Well, the good news is that we made several visits to Owlwood during our reign, so we shouldn't have difficulty arranging the meeting so that our escort is out of sight, but close enough that they can assist us if Karis has any plans to deceive us and try to attack. Unless the landscape has changed drastically, if we have to run, we can probably get away with relative ease."

The other Pevensies agreed, although Caspian didn't appear to be pleased. Peter caught the expression on the older King's face. "Caspian, we're not saying that we're going to run away, but if this is a set-up, we can't afford to go in without some type of escape plan."

Peter's thoughts briefly flitted to one particular instance where he'd gone to treat with the Giants – and been ambushed, nearly dying from his wounds. He wouldn't be making a similar mistake here.

Caspian sighed, but nodded in understanding. "I know, and I would never ask you to risk yourselves, nor would I ask you to just hand yourselves over to Karis."

Peter reached out and squeezed Caspian's shoulder gently. "We'll do everything we can, Caspian. You and Miriam are both friends, and we won't let our friends stand alone. We'll get her back." He waited until the Telmarine met his gaze before nodding encouragingly, after which he turned his attention back to the map spread out on the table. "Now, where exactly in Owlwood were you?"

Caspian studied the map for a moment before placing his finger at the place where Miriam had been taken. "Here. We were taking our time coming back to the Cair, exploring the wood some, when we were ambushed."

Caspian's finger was resting on a tiny glade about a quarter of the way through the wood from the Cair Paravel side of the forest. Edmund and Peter looked at each other silently for a moment, knowing that they had the same thought in mind. It came from years of tactical planning and battle experience, as well as all the time they had spent riding around Narnia.

Peter absently licked his lower lip to moisten it before he spoke again. "Given that the meeting place is inside that glade will make this both easier and more difficult," he mused out loud.

Quentin had been watching the proceedings, but not commenting until this point. "Why? Because you'll be able to meet Karis out in the open, but you may not know what kind of support he'll have with him?"

Peter cast a surprised glance at his best friend, but nodded. "Exactly, Quen. The upside to that is if we do this right, Karis won't know how many people we have with us either."

Susan raised her hand to halt her brother. "I don't know about that, Pete. He knew we had arrived here, remember. I think we might have to assume that someone in the court has been informing Karis of our movements. We'll need to be careful who we let into our party when we go to meet him tomorrow."

Peter nodded. "I had already considered that, Su. My intention was only to bring people we know we can trust. Glenstorm, Trumpkin, and some of the others we've worked with directly, as well as anyone that Caspian is certain can be trusted."

His siblings looked around the table at everyone who was assembled and slowly nodded when Glenstorm and Trumpkin willingly agreed to be part of the royal party's backup.

"However," here Peter looked directly at Glozelle, "I don't think that you should accompany us, General."

"Miriam is my daughter! I have to know that she's safe!" the general protested.

Peter held up a hand to quiet the man. "I know, General, and believe me I sympathize. But you have a personal stake in this, and an emotional tie. I have full confidence in your abilities as a fighter and a strategist, but your relationship with Miriam makes you an uncertain variable. Miriam won't be with Karis, I'd almost guarantee it. If Karis is as smart as I think he is, he won't take the chance on bringing her somewhere where there would be a chance we could ambush him and reclaim her."

Glozelle glowered. "Everyone here has a personal stake in this, King Peter! I do, as does King Caspian!"

Peter nodded. "I know, General. But you and Caspian have the most to lose if something goes wrong. If it wasn't for the fact that Karis has directly told us to bring Caspian, I wouldn't even consider allowing him to join us, for the same reasons we can't permit you to accompany us."

That earned the High King a dark look from Caspian, but Peter met his eyes squarely and stared him down without saying a word. The silent battle of wills raged for several moments, but in the end it was Caspian who dropped his gaze first. Peter turned his eyes on Glozelle and regarded him in the same way, and again, Glozelle was the first to look away from the intensity of Peter's stare.

After a moment, Peter looked back at the map. "So, let's continue making our plans so that everyone is on the same page before we go into this meeting tomorrow. Most likely, this will just be the first stage of the negotiations, but I don't want there to be any mistakes because everyone wasn't aware of their contributions."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: *creeps out of hiding* It's been ages since the last update and I blame it on both real life and the disappearance of my muse. I had to pop the movies in to get my inspiration back. I'm hoping it will be enough to get us through to the end of this story. Thanks to anyone who is still hanging around and reading this...I had to go back and reread it to write this chapter, so I can imagine what it's like waiting this long for you readers..._

**Part Seven:**

Peter felt confident they had touched on every conceivable scenario, so he drew the meeting to a close and watched as everyone filed out the door. Glozelle, one of the last to leave, sent a fierce glare in the young King's direction before disappearing around the doorframe.

With a quiet sigh, the High King turned to his brother. "Well, I think that about covers it," he said. "Now we wait." The younger King patted him on the shoulder as Caspian led Susan and Lucy out the doorway, chatting about the festivities planned for the tournament – obviously Lucy's way of distracting Caspian, since she had brought it up.

That left Peter, Edmund and Helen in the room.

The boys were nearly at the doorway when each felt an identical tug on their sleeves, halting them in mid-stride. Peter turned first. "Mum?" He said, looking down at where her hand was snagging in the fabric of his shirt. "Something wrong?"

Shifting his gaze upward, Peter noticed a faint tinge of red on his mother's cheeks. It was a warning sign he knew well. She wasn't happy.

"Peter, dear," she said, inadvertently making him cringe when his mind leapt to Jadis' familiar taunt. "I'm sure you're a great chess player, and therefore a great strategist, but should you really have the final say on these plans? After all, there must be those with more experience in this than you and Edmund?"

Edmund exchanged a glance with Peter. Both knew they had already explained things to their mother, about having lived as Kings and Queens for many years before returning to England and adolescence. But obviously – this was still a sticking point for their mother.

Peter knew he had to put an end to it now.

"Mother," he said, gently prying her hand from his sleeve and turning to face her squarely. "While I appreciate your concern, Edmund and I have far more experience in the art of strategy and combat than you might realize." He paused, looking briefly to Edmund for support. The younger boy nodded lightly. "While there are those who are older than us, we have gone down in the history books for our ability to plan out successful campaigns. Have no fear. We know what we are doing and all will be well."

Helen's eyes narrowed. "Don't take that regal tone with me, young man, I am still your mother," the woman said, clenching her fists at her side. The color on her cheeks darkened. Peter's words hadn't appeased her.

Drawing in a deep breath, Peter adopted a strong stance and mustered as much courage as he could. Facing down giants hadn't been as hard as the idea of facing down his mother. He had been taught to respect her wishes and do as she commanded.

"Please don't take this as disrespect, Mother," Peter said, watching her bristle but pressing on anyway. "While in Narnia, I'm afraid I _do _have the final say. You _are_ still our mother, and we love you dearly, but we have a young woman's life in our hands and I can't allow you to get in the way of saving her." He softened his next words. "I know you're only concerned for our safety, but you have to back down. We can't have you inadvertently undermining our authority."

The woman said nothing for a moment, but didn't relax her stance or her expression. She stared unwaveringly at Peter, not even sparing Edmund a glance.

"Peter, it sounds to me like you are refusing to listen to me," she said, her tone bordering on sarcastic. "I thought your father and I raised you to respect your elders?"

Edmund sucked in a breath, but let Peter respond.

"I do respect my elders," Peter said slowly. "And I do respect_ you_, mother. But you have to understand that here in Narnia, Edmund, Susan and I are more than just children, though we look like them. Here, we are Kings and Queens. Our word is law. Even over you."

He made to grab her hand, but Helen pulled it away.

"I can't accept this, Peter," she said. "It's my job to protect my children. To me, you are still my children – not some rulers of a magical land with years of battle and authority under your belts. Can't you understand, I can't just _stop_ being your mother because suddenly you're a King?"

Peter understood, but he couldn't do a thing to help her, he realized. Deciding to treat his mother like the strong woman she was, he replied, "I'm afraid you're not going to have a choice, mother," he said. "In Narnia, you _will_ obey our edicts. In this case, it means not accompanying us to this meeting."

She starting shaking her head, gearing up to point out that she was their mother and they couldn't tell her what to do, but Peter kept speaking before she could get the words out. Apparently, she wasn't going to accept the word of Peter Pevensie, so instead, she was going to get a taste of High King Peter in all his Magnificent glory.

Drawing himself up to his full height, he allowed some of his regal aura – "his most dangerous weapon", as Ed often joked – to shine through, which made her pause as she noticed the change. "I have the authority to force you to stay here," the High King said. "I could set a guard to prevent you from leaving your room. I don't want to, but I could and if I had to, I would."

Helen bristled. "You'd do that to your own mother?"

Edmund jumped in, "Look, Mum," he said. "You are our mother, yes, but _here_ you are also our subject and as a subject, we have authority over you. I know it's unusual, and I know you don't like it, but you're going to have to live with it."

Helen turned her glare on her younger son. "Edmund Pevensie," she said shortly, "you are thirteen years old, and you are saying you have authority over me? The one who birthed, raised and cared for you?"

"That's exactly what he's saying," Peter said firmly. "Please don't continue to fight us on this, Mum." He was beginning to tire of the argument and hoped Mrs. Pevensie would back down soon.

He was thankful when she shook her head in exasperation and said, "Fine. I have no choice. You've made that abundantly clear. But I don't have to be, and I'm not going to be, happy about it. If you get yourselves hurt while playing Kings, don't come crying to me."

Peter's eyes widened. "You don't mean that, Mum," he said.

There was silence for a few moments before she looked up, eyes now brimming with unshed tears. "No," she whispered. "I don't mean that." She allowed Peter to draw her into a hug and her words nearly drowned in his shoulder. "I just can't bear to see any of you hurt."

Edmund patted her back awkwardly. "And we're hoping you won't have to, Mum," he said gently. "So…are you going to stop challenging our authority? I'm afraid I have to ask."

Pulling back from Peter, she nodded lightly. "I will," she said. "But I still don't like it."

Peter chuckled. "I never thought for a moment you would."

* * *

_Somewhere in the Western Wood…_

Tensions were high.

Peter, Edmund, Glenstorm and Trumpkin were at the head of the fifteen-strong party – all strangely silent as they picked their way through the woods toward the meeting place Karis had set out in his letter.

The five royals were lost in thought, each wondering what it was that Karis wanted with the Pevensie siblings and each hoping that no harm had come to Lady Miriam since her kidnapping.

Caspian lightly fingered his shoulder where he had been wounded that day, grimacing as Miriam's laughter and smile and then her fear and panicked voice crashed through his mind.

Peter had noted the other young King's distracted persona and toyed with the idea of calling Caspian on it. Part of him wanted to let the other King know how dangerous distraction was and to reprimand him for it. The other part was sympathetic to his feelings – he'd lost the woman he loved in this very area and they had no idea if she was even alive right now.

So instead, he said nothing, just vowed to keep a closer eye on Caspian.

"Peter?"

Edmund had drawn up beside his brother, shifting his sword on his hip and tossed his head lightly to the side to knock hair out of his eyes. When he saw he had the blonde King's attention, he continued. "Trumpkin said we're nearly there. This is the area we designated for the reserves."

Frowning, Peter looked around the wood. It was nothing special. Not particularly strategic in anyway, no good areas of shelter. If they were ambushed and had to retreat here, it wouldn't serve much of a purpose.

But it would have to do.

"All right," the High King said. "Pattertwig, find the highest tree around here and climb it. Keep your eyes on us at all times. At the first sign of trouble, climb back down and let Glenstorm know."

The Talking Squirrel nodded and scurried from tree to tree until he appeared to be satisfied and bolted up one. Once he was set, the five monarchs broke off from the rest of the group. With the reassuring weight of Rhindon at his waist, Peter smiled lightly. "Let's get this show on the road," he said. "We don't want to be late."

Caspian nudged his mount and quickly and moved off into the woods, taking the lead since he was the only one of the royals who had been in the area before. Peter and Edmund flanked him. Lucy and Susan moved in just slightly behind their brothers, Lucy on Peter's side and Susan on Edmund's.

They were silent again as they moved through the brush toward a clearing ahead. Peter hadn't been thrilled with the idea of meeting out in the open. But they hadn't had much of a chance to negotiate the meeting place.

Slowing to a halt, they dismounted at the edge of the woods and tethered their horses. Peter peered across the small clearing and could just discern five figures on the other side. They appeared to be human and looked to have dark hair. They had to be Karis and his men.

Caspian leaned just a bit to the side and addressed Peter. "Shall we enter the clearing? See what he does?"

Peter regarded the small group carefully. The five didn't appear to be moving. Someone was going to have to make the first move. Tightening his grip on Rhindon, Peter turned toward Susan. "Be ready," he said. "Your bow is far more effective right now than our swords."

He didn't notice Lucy's slight frown beside him.

Unbeknownst to him, she had taken slight offense to his words. After all, _she _didn't carry a sword, she carried her dagger and it could easily be thrown a distance. But _no_, Peter and Edmund would never turn to her for their safety. She forced the disappointment off her face and remembered she was going to change all that _very_ soon.

Movement across the clearing jolted her from her thoughts and she could practically feel Peter tense in front of her as Karis' men began to advance into the clearing. Front and center was a tall, dark-haired man with a handsome face. At his side was a long sword, similar in style to Rhindon. On his back was strapped an oval-shaped shield not unlike the one Edmund had been given all those years ago at Beruna.

Peter's eyes narrowed as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He couldn't place it, but something felt off. He could see no one besides the five men advancing toward them, he could see no obvious trip wires or traps of any kind. But his senses were screaming at him nonetheless.

Suddenly the silence was broken. "Are the Kings and Queens too cowardly to show themselves?" called out the man in the lead. "Or perhaps you care not for the safety of the Lady – only for your own?"

Caspian's body made to step forward, but Peter thrust his arm out in front of the young man. "Wait," he said quietly. "I don't like this. I don't like it at all."

There was a hiss from Caspian. "Don't like it? I see no threat. Only the one to Miriam if we _don't_ step into that clearing and face Karis."

Edmund peered across Caspian's front toward Peter. He was puzzled by his brother's hesitation. "Caspian has a point, Peter," he said quietly. "Why aren't we going out there? Do you see something that could harm us?"

Shaking his head slowly, Peter replied, "No. But I just have a really bad feeling about this." He looked out to the field again, focusing on the far left and then the far right side of it. "I can't place it."

Caspian shook his head. "Then we go," he said, pushing Peter's hand away from his chest and stepping forward. Edmund cocked his head to side and Peter let out a huff, but didn't protest further and stepped back up beside Caspian as he breached the edge of the field.

As they walked toward the other five beings in the clearing, a dark shadow momentarily passed overhead and Peter glanced upward quickly. Seeing it was a bird of some kind, he relaxed slightly. _At least it wasn't some sort of weapon,_ he thought to himself, _lobbed to fall on our heads or something._

The five monarchs came to a halt five paces from Karis' group and Peter pulled his thoughts together. It wouldn't due to be distracted right now. He pushed aside the feeling of foreboding and focused his attention on who he assumed to be Karis.

Wasting no time, Caspian spoke. "I have done as you asked," he said. "The Kings and Queens of Narnia. Now, where is the Lady Miriam?"

Karis chuckled. "Safe, for the moment," he said. "If you continue to do as you're told, she will remain so. If not…" he raised his hands and cocked his eyebrow. "There's no telling what condition she may return to you in."

Peter remained silent, as did Edmund and the girls, as Caspian spoke again. Letting Caspian take the lead had been part of their plan to feel out how much Karis knew of the old Narnian monarchs. "_Continue_?" the dark-haired King said. "What more must I do?"

The man turned his gaze on Peter. "Turn _him_ over to me," he said, pointing at the young man.

Five sets of eyes widened at that and Edmund immediately prepared to reply to that with a resounding "no" – only to be cut off by Caspian. "I have no control over the High King," he said. "I cannot 'turn him over' to you anymore than I can force you to return Miriam to me right now."

Karis' eyes honed back in on Peter. "Will you trade yourself for the Lady, oh mighty High King?" he said tauntingly, his eyes flicking up for a moment as a shadow passed overhead a second time. "Or will you act a coward and save yourself and sacrifice the Lady's life?"

Peter could almost feel Lucy's eyes boring into his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he could read Caspian's body language – guilt for part of him wanting Peter to do exactly that and anger at Karis for suggesting such a difficult solution."

There was no indication of Peter's feelings as he finally spoke. "_If_ I should go with you, what would you gain?" he said. "What sort of assurances would we have that the Lady Miriam would be released, unharmed?"

They had discussed this possibility at the meeting, and Peter knew that no one would be going willingly with Karis today, but he hoped perhaps to glean more information from the man by asking his intentions.

His hopes were soon dashed.

"I have no need to share my reasons with you," Karis said loftily. "Will you, or will you not, agree to these terms? You have my word that the Lady will not be harmed, and that is all you shall get."

Caspian shook his head slowly. "This from the one who kidnaps a young woman and holds her captive," he said. "How can you expect us to simply take your word for it?"

Beside him, Peter noticed Karis' men shifting uneasily. As if waiting for something. A signal?

Karis sighed dramatically then and drew Peter's attention back to him.

"It seems we are at an impasse," he said. "We shall do this another way then."

The swords of Karis' men were swiftly ripped from their sheaths and arching with deadly intent toward Caspian, Edmund, Susan and Lucy. Karis made for Peter, who had pulled Rhindon just as fast and was more than ready to meet an attack.

Over the din of the fighting, Karis called out. "I need no prisoners save this one."

The man's words made Peter's blood boil. Looking just beyond Karis, he saw Edmund cut down one of the men who had been trying to get around him and reach Susan and Lucy.

It gave Susan just enough time to launch a rapid arrow at another man approaching, leaving Caspian and Edmund each dueling one man. Peter let out a small sigh of relief at that as he parried Karis' first strike, the blow glancing easily off Rhindon's sharp blade.

He was vaguely aware of men approaching from the edge of the clearing and the barely perceptible sound of Susan firing off arrows as he easily kept Karis at bay. The man was obviously no pushover, but it didn't take a skilled observer to see that Peter was the better duelist.

So intent on Karis and trying to keep an eye on his siblings and Caspian to his left, Peter didn't see a man approaching from his right – sword drawn as he crept toward the High King and Karis.

Lucy, however, did. The youngest Queen was hanging back, out of her brothers' and Caspian's way, covering Susan to give her time to get her arrows off. As more and more men entered the clearing, the young Queen looked around, puzzled. _Where are our reserves? What is going on?_ She suddenly caught sight of the man heading toward her oldest brother from his blind side, and acted.

Peter's eyes snapped to the right when he heard the thud of a body hitting the ground. Karis halted momentarily as well, surprise on his face at the turning of events. He hadn't expected that man to fall.

Both of them took in the still-quivering dagger embedded in the man's throat.

The young King recognized it and immediately turned his head to locate its owner. Lucy was standing motionless, arm still extended from her throw. She was now completely weaponless.

Her eyes met his and then widened in alarm.

Peter realized he still had a perfectly healthy opponent with a very sharp blade when he felt a sharp, intense pain slash across his shoulders. He jerked forward and cried out before he could stop himself.

A short distance away, Edmund's head snapped toward the sound of his brother's distress. He saw Peter spin around, blood blossoming on his shirt, and his heart leapt into his throat. _Not again!_ he thought to himself. Memories of the How flashed before his eyes, even though he knew he shouldn't let them.

Caspian's voice suddenly erupted from his right. "Edmund!"

He tore his gaze from Peter and Karis just in time to see his own opponent's blade flash downward in a vicious arc. Pain erupted in his right leg and it collapsed from under him. Edmund lost his grip on his sword and thrust his hands out to catch himself before he planted face-first in the dirt. He choked back a cry as he felt a sickening _pop_ in his right wrist when he impacted the ground.

The man wound up for another strike – on that would end Edmund's life – but faltered when a red-fletched arrow struck home and he was knocked back a step, his eyes wide but quickly turning glassy in death.

Caspian let out a shout of anger and with blinding speed, he dispatched his own opponent and fell to the ground beside Edmund, prying the younger King's hands from his leg to get a look at the wound.

The clanging of swords continued nearby as Peter laid into Karis with renewed vigor, despite the pain from his wound. That duel might have continued if not for the sudden rallying cry and arrival of the Narnian reserves – minus a few of their number.

Glenstorm was in the lead of the charge and Karis, seeing the Centaur general and realizing his chances at taking Peter by force were now squashed, quickly thrust out with a leg and knocked Peter back just long enough to turn and run.

He let out a whistle and a black horse burst from the nearby forest.

Karis wasted no time in vaulting onto the creature's back and disappearing into the woods. Glenstorm and another Centaur took off into the woods after him, leaving the rest of the reserve group to join their monarchs.

Peter winced hard as he slipped Rhindon back into its sheath and stumbled toward Edmund. Susan, Lucy and Caspian were all crouched around his brother and Peter feared the worst for a moment – until he caught sight of the younger King's pain-pinched expression.

If he was awake, he was alive.

"Ed," he said, slumping to the ground beside the dark-haired youth, glancing at the bloody, gaping wound in his little brother's thigh. Caspian was pressing down on it, but Edmund seemed not to be too aware and wasn't reacting like Peter would expect. _He must be really out of it,_ Peter thought, his stomach – hardened as it was to bloodshed from all the years of fighting in Narnia, followed by the bloody war and the battles he had seen in Greece - twisting and roiling at the sight of so much blood and the thought of his brother going through that level of pain. Susan was trying to get Edmund to let her see his other wrist, which he was cradling close to his chest. Gulping, he looked up at the younger King's face. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, reaching out to clasp the hand closest to him.

Confusion shone in Edmund's eyes for a moment before he seemed to figure something out. Then it shifted to exasperation. "Cut it out," he said weakly. "S'not your fault."

Peter shook his head. "You _heard_ me yell," he said. "You'd have been fine if I hadn't gotten hurt."

Next to him, Lucy tensed. Everyone was so focused on Edmund that no one noticed. Lucy's mind was racing. Peter had been injured because he'd been distracted by her, weaponless in the middle of a battle. And Edmund had been injured because _he'd_ been distracted by Peter's cry.

Which meant both of their injuries were because of _her_.

She felt tears gathering in her eyes. Only half of them were of sorrow for her brothers' pain. The other half were tears of anger that she wasn't able to help protect them. _**This**__ is why I need to learn a weapon,_ she thought to herself, her resolve hardened like steel. _Next time…next time__**no one**__ need worry for __**my**__ safety and jeopardize their own._

Caspian let out a shaky breath as he finished binding Edmund's wound. "This is pretty deep," he said as he sat back on his heels. "We should make for Cair Paravel with all haste."

Susan shook her head. "I'm not sure, but I think his wrist is broken too, Peter. The sooner we get back, the sooner we can get it set properly."

Caspian turned to Peter. "You're hurt," he said. "Let me see?"

But Peter shook his head. "I'm fine, we should get Ed to the healers."

Susan stood and moved around behind him. "Peter Pevensie, you will let someone tend your wound," she said. "None of this guilt business. You're no good to us passed out from blood loss."

He blinked owlishly at her, but nodded his agreement.

While the other King examined his back, Peter's mind drifted.

_This was a disaster,_ he thought. _Mum is going to be so upset. We said we'd be all right. We said we could plan campaigns. And look what happened. An ambush. Edmund's hurt badly. I'm hurt. Karis looks to have gotten away. We're no closer to saving Miriam. Disaster. All around._

He squeezed his eyes shut and silently wished Aslan were here.

_He'd know what to do_.His gaze shifted to Lucy. Why hadn't she mentioned Him yet? It was unlike her. She had such faith in Aslan.

Shaking his head, Peter realized something was nagging at him. Namely, why the plan had failed so miserably. Turning slightly, cringing at the pull on his wound, he focused on Trumpkin who was silently watching the perimeter.

"Trumpkin," he said quietly. "What happened to delay the reserves?"

The dwarf nudged the leopard next to him, ordering him to take over the watch, and then moved to stand before Peter. With the High King kneeling on the ground, he was on equal level with Trumpkin.

"Somehow Karis' men were able to pinpoint our location and spring an attack on us," he said. "Pattertwig remained in the tree and yelled down that Karis was attacking you five not long after our attack started. He must have had some way to find our reserves and try to take them out before he launched his attack on you, sire."

Peter's mind flicked back to the shadows of the bird. He vaguely remembered Karis' eyes drifting upwards just before he ordered his attack on them. And the bird had flown over earlier, perhaps it had alerted Karis and his troops to the Narnian reserves' location?

There was no way to know for sure, but the High King told his companions his suspicions and Trumpkin scowled suddenly. "We did see a crow," he said, "but thought nothing of it, being it wasn't one of Karis' men."

Finished bandaging Peter's back, Caspian settled beside him. "So this means Karis has Narnians on his side – or at least the one," he said. "This just gets worse and worse."

Peter might have replied if not for the return of Glenstorm and his companion. They ground to a halt next to the Kings and Queens, worriedly eying Edmund's pale face and Peter's bloody tunic.

"My Kings and Queens," Glenstorm said. "We could not find Karis. He has gotten away."

Caspian let out a shaky breath. "Is there no trail to follow? I fear for Miriam's life. He has not gotten what he wished for – is there no way to track him back to his lair to rescue her?"

The Centaur frowned. "The ground is well-trampled," he said. "It would be very difficult to track him. But I suggest we set the Talking Dogs to the task nonetheless. They may be able to locate him. It is, I believe, a long shot."

Caspian nodded his agreement and Glenstorm's companion hurried off to set up a tracking party. Focus returned to the injured Edmund and Peter.

"Up you get, Peter," Susan said, gingerly helping her brother to his feet. At the same time, Caspian and Glenstorm hoisted Edmund atop his horse, which had been led over from the edge of the forest where all five of the monarchs' rides had remained waiting.

The High King watched as Edmund tried in vain to find a comfortable way to sit for the ride back. The younger boy seemed shaky and Peter frowned. "Budge up, Ed," he said. "There's no way you'll be able to ride back alone, losing blood like that and with a broken wrist."

Peter made to move to the horse's side, but he was intercepted by Lucy, surprisingly. The young girl had a scowl on her face. "And you think you'll just hop up there and hold him on then?" She said. "I'll bet you can't reach the reins around him with that slash on your shoulders."

_She has a point,_ Peter thought reluctantly.

He nodded silently and Susan mounted up on the horse behind Edmund, wrapping her arms around him securely. Lucy's gaze softened. "Peter," she said quietly. "It really isn't your fault. I'm sure Ed doesn't blame you."

Peter looked down at Lucy and sighed. "I know," he said. "And I reckon I ought to remind you that my injury isn't your fault either, Lu. We're both responsible for our own, since it was our fault we let ourselves get distracted."

She nodded, but deep down didn't believe it.

As soon as everyone was set, the group moved off in the direction of Cair Paravel. Hearts were heavy and each dreaded the next communication from Karis. Would it be a letter, setting out new demands? Or would it be something decidedly more gruesome?


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Well look! I updated and it hasn't been months since Chapter 7! This chapter has quite a bit of emotional parts in it, and I hope I captured them well enough. Wanted to thank my beta, Phoenixqueen, who is endless supportive of my writing!**

**Part 8:**

_Cair Paravel library…_

Quentin sighed and replaced the book on the shelf.

There were so many to choose from that Quentin had been unable to settle and was idly running his fingers along the bindings of books on the shelves lining the grand library. Sun filtered in through the large windows and the room was warm and relaxing.

His body might have been relaxed – but his mind was anything but.

With a quiet sigh, he leaned his head against the books in front of him and blew a breath through his teeth. There was so much to take in and now that he was alone with his thoughts he found that he wanted to know more about this strange, magical land. But more than that, he wanted to know more about Peter and Edmund's roles here.

"May I be of some assistance, Master Quentin?"

Whirling around, Quentin saw no one at first. Until he lowered his gaze to knee level and took in the Badger looking curiously – if that was the expression on his face – up at him. "Um," Quentin stammered. "I'm just looking around."

Trufflehunter nodded. "If I can help you with anything, you have only to ask."

Turning away, he began to walk off and Quentin contemplated letting him. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he had realized many minutes ago that he wouldn't be able to sift through this library to find what he wanted.

"Lord Trufflehunter, actually," he said, taking a step toward the retreating Badger. "Maybe you could help me." He waited until Trufflehunter had turned back toward him before continuing. "See, I knew Peter … I mean, High King Peter … I suppose … when he was a child. _Before_ he and his brother and sisters first came here to Narnia. And now, I feel as if I don't know him at all. I wanted to learn more about what they did here. It might help me understand them better."

For a moment, the Badger said nothing. Quentin fidgeted under the creature's gaze.

Then Trufflehunter cocked his head to the side and replied with his own question. "Do you want to know their exploits, for there are many a book on those; or are you interested in knowing how they went from the people _you_ know, to the people they are now? They are two different requests."

Quentin frowned. True, he was interested in hearing the daring rescues and harrowing battles the brothers had engaged in, but he could just go to the source for those. "The latter," he said quietly. "I want to know how a schoolboy could come here and so comfortably walk into danger. I know Peter went to war in our world, but even so, he was far from a leader. This is so different."

The Badger gestured for Quentin to follow him into a nearby alcove where there was a human-sized stuffed chair – and a decidedly smaller stuffed chair beside it. Trufflehunter offhandedly explained: "For when I give King Caspian his history lessons."

Quentin nodded slowly as he settled into the larger of the chairs. It was still unnerving to be face-to-face with a Badger, who was talking, and who was carefully setting a dusty tome on a nearby table.

But he shook it off and waited for Trufflehunter to begin speaking.

"I expect you could find many a story about the Kings' heroic exploits here in the library," Trufflehunter said. "I wrote a fair few myself, and I kept many of those written by my ancestors in good condition." He paused before continuing thoughtfully. "But I expect what _you _are looking for isn't in any books. You are looking for something that didn't happen during a campaign. And it wasn't something that happened overnight, or at once. It was learned over fifteen years of trial and error."

Quentin sighed. "I realize that, I suppose," he said slowly. "I had thought perhaps Peter and Edmund, and even Susan and Lucy, are just unique. And maybe that's why they were chosen to fulfill the prophecy. Maybe I'm just grasping at straws and there is no answer."

Trufflehunter shook his head and looked up at Quentin. "There were many things the Kings and Queens needed to learn when they first came to Narnia. That much is clearly mentioned in the earliest histories of their reign. You have to remember one thing when dealing with your friends now – they have _been_ adults. While they may act young from time to time, I think you will find more often than not that they exhibit traits of their older selves."

Quentin nodded. "Being Kings wasn't all fun and games, I know that," he said. "Peter is a lot more … wise, I suppose, than I remember him being. And he doesn't let his temper get the best of him, like he used to when we were younger."

Trufflehunter nodded. "It is something High King Peter had to learn. Not to get overly emotional, whether it was sorrow or anger, when dealing with difficult times. It took time, and I expect it changed them. Irrevocably so."

He had known, since Peter and Ed had told him about growing up in Narnia, that the brothers had changed. Thinking about it now, he realized that childhood, for them, felt like the distant past. Especially for Peter, who'd fought in the war in England as well. They had lived two separate lives…while it was only a few years since he and Peter could be considered "children", for Peter, it was literally a lifetime ago.

And he came to a conclusion, sitting in that library across from a quiet Trufflehunter -- he could work with that. After all, he wasn't a child either. And while he wasn't royalty, and hadn't risked life and limb for a country – England or Narnia – he would go out on a limb to help his friends. Earlier, he hadn't been so sure. But now … if Peter and Edmund could adapt to a life such as they had, and at younger ages, surely he could do it too.

Realizing that the Badger was still watching him with a quiet gaze, Quentin smiled at him. "Thank you, Lord Trufflehunter. I think your advice will help me a great deal."

"You are most welcome Master Quentin," the Badger replied, sliding to the ground before picking up the book he'd been carrying before. "Please, let me know if you need any further assistance."

* * *

_Road to Cair Paravel… _

Susan readjusted her grip on the reins. Edmund wasn't large for someone his age, but it was still a bit of a strain to wrap her arms around him, hold him steady, and control the Telmarine horse they were riding.

Beside her, Peter eyed his brother with worry. The other boy was pale and would blink rapidly once in a while. Each jostle of the horse's gait seemed to bring out a wince now, and Peter was tempted to call a halt to give his brother a break.

That was, if he wasn't still losing blood. Which he was. _He might need Lu's cordial after all,_ he thought to himself as he watched Susan grimace as she steadied a wobbling Edmund again.

Peter was grateful that Caspian was hovering very close to his sister and brother, since he knew he wouldn't be able to catch Edmund if he were to fall. His own wound was smarting something fierce and he was beginning to realize he was going to be very stiff for at least a few days.

A commotion suddenly broke the silence from behind him and Peter craned his neck to see Trumpkin, a gruff expression on his face, looking toward the sky. When the young King peered upward, he saw nothing.

"Is there something the matter, Trumpkin?" he questioned, gesturing for the other to come ride alongside him.

Drawing up, the Dwarf shook his head. "I thought I might have seen something," he said. "Given that a Crow was in on Karis' ambush, we don't want to be caught unawares again, my King."

Peter nodded. "Agreed," he said. Suddenly he turned to Caspian. "Is this the first instance you've seen evidence that Karis has Narnians on his side? I find it alarming that he may be gaining followers."

The dark-haired King frowned. "There _have_ been some reports of dissent in the north," he said. "But we had no indication that the dissent was so strong as to push these creatures to join Karis. Nor any reason to believe he was gathering troops in Narnia. His taunts seem to place his power in his ability to travel from his land to Narnia."

Peter nodded absently. That detail was worrisome, if it was true. Which he couldn't understand, since he and his siblings had come from another world, but even they couldn't travel between them at will – Aslan had made it possible to choose the exit point last time.

Unless that was all a fib? What if Karis _had_ come from another land, but couldn't travel between them as he seemed to be claiming? It wasn't out of the question. And it could explain why he felt the need to gather Narnian followers.

_But what does he need __**me**__ for? _Peter wondered to himself. That was the reason for kidnapping Miriam, or so it seemed, and the reason for the meeting. Just from their short duel, Peter could tell Karis was no pushover of a swordsman, but he had not taken full advantage of the younger man's distraction and had only dealt him a glancing flesh wound.

He was broken from his thoughts when Susan cried out in alarm and Caspian jolted sideways to catch a tumbling Edmund before Susan lost her grip entirely. Peter could see his brother was no longer conscious and part of Susan's battle dress was covered in blood.

Peter slipped from his horse and hurried to Caspian's side. He noted Edmund's pallor, paler still than earlier, and tried to revive him to no avail. Looking up, he shook his head. "He is still losing blood and needs the healers now," he said. "I'll take him and ride swiftly. Lucy, I'll need you to try and keep up, in case we have no choice but to give him cordial."

Susan broke in. "Are you sure you can hold him, Peter? You are injured as well," Susan said. "Perhaps you should let Caspian ride ahead with him." But Peter was already shaking his head.

"He's my brother, and I have strength enough for this," he said. "If something were to happen on the way I would like to be there. No offense intended, Caspian." The other King nodded in understanding. "Help me get him up."

Caspian and Glenstorm made short work of getting Edmund situated in front of Peter, his weight leaning back onto his brother. The blond boy firmly gripped the reins, ignoring the pull in his shoulders, and eyed Lucy beside him. "Let's go," he said, turning to the others and bidding them be careful on the road.

And then he nudged the horse and they broke out into a full gallop, Peter hard-pressed to keep himself and Edmund on the horse, but determination winning out over pain and fatigue. Beside him, Lucy clung to her horse's reins and focused all her energy on keeping up with Peter and not losing her own seat. She didn't even dare spare a glance for Edmund. He'd be okay. He had to be.

* * *

_Cair Paravel training grounds … _

Helen watched as General Glozelle – at least she _thought _it was general – swung two swords skillfully in looping and stabbing arcs and thrusts. He had worked up a sweat and she had relieved a Narnian of the water pitcher and goblet he had brought to the courtyard, saying she would see to it that the man drank when he was finished with his exercise.

With one last impressive movement, he suddenly came to a halt, one sword held aloft and the other in front of him. He was breathing heavier than normal, but wasn't completely out of breath.

Drawing himself out of his concentration on the movements, he finally noticed the dark-haired woman sitting on a stone bench not far from where he was standing. Beside her sat the pitcher and goblet.

He let his arms fall to his sides, briefly rolling his shoulders in circles, and then walked to her side and executed a light bow of greeting. "My lady," he said. "I hope I have not been rude. If you had need of me…"

Helen chuckled. "Oh no," she said. "I was just looking for something to keep my mind off…other things…and I thought to come outside. When I saw you practicing, I was drawn to watch. You are very impressive."

The man might have blushed a bit, but Helen couldn't tell. He shrugged, reaching for the cup she held out to him. "I've had a lot of practice," he said. "I'm a match for your sons, but as you saw earlier, I can't quite beat them. Their looks are quite deceiving, as are their skills." He frowned when the woman's eyes darkened. "Did I say something wrong, my lady?"

"Forgive me," Helen said. "I am still getting used to the idea of my children as warriors. It's so very difficult, I'm afraid. I can't shake my thoughts of them getting hurt. I had hoped by coming outside I could forget it, if only for a short while. But everything about this world reminds me I no longer know them."

Glozelle was silent for a moment before he replied. "I can't imagine, my lady. But…I can say I _do_ understand your fear for their safety right now. I'm feeling it as well, worrying for my daughter's life. When I lost her mother, Miriam became everything to me. I can't bear to lose her."

Helen placed a gentle hand on the man's arm. "Losing a loved one is never easy," she sighed. "When I lost my husband in the war back home, it nearly destroyed me. If it weren't for my children … I don't know that I could have coped."

Glozelle nodded. "It was the same for me," he said. "It seems we have much in common, Lady Helen. We both have known loss and we both fear to lose more today." They eyed each other during the moments of silence that followed, Glozelle taking sips of his water every so often and Helen fidgeting with the sleeve of her gown.

Their conversation might have continued if it weren't for the sudden sounding of trumpets from the battlements above the causeway leading into the courtyard. Glozelle leapt to his feet, Helen not far behind him, and both hurried to see what was causing the commotion. He led her through the hallways until they came to the main gates.

One of the sentries called out. "Two horses approaching, my Lord," when he saw Glozelle nearing. "It appears one is carrying two riders, the other a young girl, most likely Queen Lucy."

"Can you tell who is on the other?" Glozelle asked as the gates were cycling open.

There was a pause before the man replied, "I believe one has blond hair."

Helen gasped. "Peter…"

If he was riding, he was all right, but who was he riding with and in what condition were they? And where was the rest of the party that had gone out? She rolled up on the balls of her feet, as if it would give her the height needed to see something more. It didn't. But soon she didn't need height as two horses came quickly through the gates.

Atop one was Lucy, her hair flying out in all directions from the hard ride. On the other was an unconscious Edmund and a very disheveled Peter. Helen clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry at the sight of her younger son. There was blood on his leg and on the horse's flank. A bandage had been tied tightly around his leg, but the blood had seeped through.

"Edmund!" she finally choked out, racing to the horse's side as Glozelle reached up and took the younger King from Peter's grasp, the latter slipping from the horse and stumbling as he hit the ground.

Helen missed it, she was so focused on Edmund.

Glozelle was already examining the unconscious boy's leg. He turned to the nearest guard. "Fetch Healer Parsus and be quick about it," the man said sharply, sending the man skittering to obey his command. "What happened, Sire?" He said, turning to Peter, who was staring at Edmund with wide eyes, as if he had never seen his brother injured before. Or perhaps he was staring at his mother…who had shifted her gaze to him and it was not a welcoming one.

"We were ambushed," he said. "It would appear Karis has some Narnians aiding him, in this case, a Crow. It alerted his men to the position of our reserves and Karis' men attacked them first. Some of our number, and some of theirs, were lost. Karis escaped."

Glozelle nodded, pressing against Edmund's still bleeding thigh wound with a piece of towel someone had brought to him from the nearby store room. "Are there any other injured?"

Peter shook his head no, only to yelp when Lucy pressed lightly on his back.

"Don't try it, Peter," she said with a huff.

Glozelle peered up at the High King and noted a bit of red peeking around his right shoulder. "You are bleeding, Sire," he said.

The young man waved a hand when a guard approached him. "It's nothing," he said angrily. "Edmund is the one in need of assistance." He eyed Helen, who had stood up. "The others sport some minor wounds, but are riding at a more sedate pace. I felt Edmund needed to be seen by the healers sooner."

"He wouldn't need to see a healer if you hadn't gone out on this foolhardy escapade," Helen said, her voice low and oddly dead. "I believed you when you said you knew how to plan campaigns. Plan circles around the 'other guys'," she continued, stepping away from Edmund and Glozelle and rounding on Peter. "Maybe you thought so because of your chess prowess? But chess pieces can't bleed, Peter. This is no game."

Guilt ripped through Peter before righteous anger. It was the latter that came out. "The plan _was_ good considering the information we had," he said, his own voice showing no sign of Peter Pevensie and all signs of High King Peter speaking to a dangerous foe. "No campaign is ever fool-proof. We all know the risks when we ride to face enemies. This isn't the first time we have run into trouble."

Lucy could sense the situation about to explode. Both their mother and Peter were hard-headed. While Peter's temper hadn't reared its ugly head much since he had spent fifteen years ruling Narnia, it did on occasion surface. His fear for Edmund would only make it worse.

"It isn't the first time, yet you continue to put your brother and sisters in danger, Peter," she said, walking as close to her eldest as she could since he wouldn't back up. "I understand the need to help General Glozelle's daughter, but as I mentioned earlier, perhaps you should have let the professionals make the plans."

"We _are_ professionals!" Peter contested hotly, but not loudly. "Mother, this isn't the time or place for this conversation." His tone left no room for continued argument. "Edmund is in need of care and support."

Helen looked as if she had been slapped. "I know what my son needs, Peter Pevensie." She turned on her heel and stalked back toward Edmund. An elderly man was stooped down over the younger King, who was being carefully lifted onto a stretcher. She moved to his side and introduced herself. He bowed lightly, and then turned to King Peter.

"We'll take him to the Healing Wing, Sire," he said. "King Edmund will be just fine with rest. He is merely suffering from blood loss, it's the reason for his fainting spell."

Peter nodded wearily. "Thank you, Healer Parsus," he said, falling into step behind his mother and Lucy, who was casting him concerned looks every few feet. Helen wouldn't look at him. Glozelle frowned, but chose not to say anything. He was still miffed at King Peter for not allowing him to accompany them, and wondering what this failed meeting meant for his daughter.

Peter stared at his mother's back as they hurried along corridors. His wound was beginning to hurt something fierce, but he almost relished the pain. He was still seething that his mother was blaming _him_ for Edmund's wound. In a way, it _was_ his fault, but the failed meeting wasn't anyone's fault.

Edmund was quickly settled into a bed, and his leg rewrapped while Tumnus prepared an old Narnian medication that would ease the younger boy's pain when he woke and would prompt the body to replenish its own blood supply faster. It wasn't a cure for blood loss like a transfusion in England , but it was effective over time.

Helen sat on the edge of Edmund's bed stroking her son's hair back from his face. Peter hovered uncertainly on the other side of the bed, a few steps back. Lucy stood beside him, lending him what strength she could. Helen was a formidable force when it came to protecting her children – and as the youngest, even Lucy the Valiant wasn't keen on angering her.

Long moments passed before Helen looked up at her other children. Her gaze focused on Lucy. "Are you all right, Lucy dear?" she asked, gaze shifting momentarily to Peter before returning to Lucy. When the girl nodded, she continued. "And Susan? And that young man, Caspian?" Lucy nodded again and said both were well.

The woman turned her attention to Peter. "This little adventure is over, Peter," she said. "You'll leave the decision-making to the adults." Her words weren't a question, but a command.

Peter bristled.

"I _thought_ you understood from our earlier conversation that in Narnia our words carry more weight than yours, Mother," he said slowly. "You have only just arrived here and know little of this world, while we have years of experience here. This isn't a 'little adventure' and it isn't over until we have secured Miriam's safety…if at all possible."

Helen rose. She wasn't taller than Peter, but she _was_ imposing. "I did understand, and at the time felt confident in your abilities. Until you returned to this castle with a wounded younger brother in tow and told me of a failed plan. How can I have faith that your next plan will go better?"

Lucy watched as Peter stood rigidly before their mother. "There's a whole library full of books detailing our exploits," he said. "They should be proof enough. I'm not going to waste anymore words trying to convince you when it's obvious you have no plans to listen."

It was Helen's turn to bristle. "Peter, you are _on the edge_," she said. It was something she had said in their youth. _On the edge and one step more, you __**will**__ fall._ He remembered it well. It held no sway over him now.

"On the edge or not," he said, "I _will_ see this through. With or without your support. You can't stop me, nor can you stop Edmund, Susan or Lucy." His gaze softened. "Mum, I don't want to fight with you. I'm not doing this to hurt you. I'm not. But please, _please_, stop trying to treat me like a child."

"You _are_ a child, Peter, _my_ child," she said. "Whether you've fought in wars here and home or not, doesn't matter to me. I am your _mother_." And before she said something she would really regret, Helen pushed past Peter, briefly cringing at the pained grunt that he let out at the jostling. The woman disappeared out the door.

Peter was left staring at the empty archway, Lucy poised to put a hand on his arm but unsure if she should. Healers Parsus and Tumnus stood by quietly, feeling awkward about being in the middle of such a personal – and unusual situation.

"Peter…" Lucy whispered.

But her brother spun so fast, she stepped back. "Don't Lu," he said. "It's fine. She's just upset about Edmund. I know she doesn't mean to be so hard on me." And while he knew it, inwardly, it didn't feel any less painful.

He slumped down on the seat near Edmund's bed and stared at his brother's face. At least Ed hadn't had to argue with their mother about the failed campaign. He'd take the anger upon himself, if he could.

Lucy watched her brothers before turning and exiting the room, intent on locating the rest of their party, who should be arriving soon. Their mother, she thought, needed some time alone.

* * *

_Sleeping chamber corridor… _

"I'm a _High King_, I've faced giants, a Witch, my _mother_, and I ran out of there like a puppy with its tail between its legs when Parsus and Tumnus ganged up on me," he muttered. "But I have to admit, put Parsus and Tumnus together and you have a brick wall if you try to argue against them."

He shifted his shoulders and winced as pain zipped through them. At least he'd gotten away without them blustering about his wound. As a matter of fact, somehow, he'd gotten it past them.

"Peter!"

The young King spun around to find Quentin racing down the corridor toward him. "Hey," he said wearily as his best friend reached his side. "Been keeping busy?"

But Quentin didn't answer. He skidded to a halt and stared at Peter. Tilting to the side, he peered around the other boy. "Where's Edmund? You two are never far apart. And you, mate, look like hell."

Peter shook his head and turned around to continue toward his room. "Things didn't go as well as expected," he said with a frustrated shake of his head. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Quentin and he winced. He must have seen the blood.

"Peter…" the other boy said, his voice quiet and subdued. "What happened?"

He followed the young King into the chamber they shared with Edmund and quietly shut the door behind himself. Peter hadn't answered. He peeled pieces of armor off and grumbled when he found himself unable to pull his tunic over his head.

Hands suddenly gripped it and did it for him. Peter felt like hiding, until he remembered that Quentin had already seen him at the Army hospital. So he let his friend pull the tunic off and ease the bloody bandage off his friend's wound.

"Man," Quentin whispered. "Quite the scratch there, Pete. Want me to put something on it for you? I don't know what you guys use here…"

Shifting, Peter pointed toward a small table by the doorway. Someone had placed water and a fresh bandage on it, along with a greenish paste. "You just clean it, spread that on and cover it up again," he said. "And I'd really appreciate it. Usually Susan or Edmund do it, if I can manage to avoid the healers. But…Ed's been hurt."

Quentin paused for a moment on the way to gather the supplies. "He's going to be all right, though?"

Peter sighed. "Yes," he said. "But…Mum is awfully upset about it. We just had a very loud argument. And she stormed off. I…I just can't get through to her, Quen. She doesn't understand. This isn't some game to me. I'm not doing this because I'm arrogant. I'm doing it because it's my duty. This was my _home_ for just as long as England has been."

His friend began to clean the blood away from his wound and for a few moments said nothing. When he did speak, it was slow and measured. "Peter, this is a _lot_ to take in," he said. "Not everyone can do that as easily as you and the others seem to have. And I imagine it's a hundred times harder for your Mum to grasp." He slowed his ministrations when Peter winced and jerked away. "Easy," he said, not sure where this sudden "healer instinct" had come from, but deciding to work with it. "I talked to Trufflehunter earlier. It's been hard for me, you know. Before this term, and coming here, the Peter Pevensie I knew was just a boy. I know you've gone to wars, here and back home, but knowing it doesn't make accepting the new you any easier."

Quentin sighed as he replaced the bandage across Peter's upper back. "Give her time," he said. "She'll come around."

Peter huffed, but nodded. "I know," he said. "It's just hard. I had kind of hoped I'd be able to lean on her. But…I don't even know if she realized _I _was hurt too. I feel awful about Edmund, and when she all but said it was my fault he was hurt…it was horrible."

The other boy imagined it would be, but really didn't know what to say to his friend. Finished with his work, he moved around Peter and sat beside him on the bed, choosing instead to shift his attention from the argument with Mrs. Pevensie to the cold, hard facts. "Now, tell me what happened. And don't leave anything out."

As Peter launched into the tale, soft footsteps retreated from the cracked doorway. Their owner had a lot of thinking to do.

**A/N: Here's hoping I've got the emotions believable enough!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Took a little longer to get this together, but I write battles faster than emotional scenes. Hope it lives up to any and all expectations...**

**Part Nine**:

Helen closed her eyes and tried to even out her breathing, relishing the cool breeze rushing through the small courtyard she had somehow stumbled upon. Two sides of it were stone walls of the castle, the other two merged seamlessly into the surrounding forest. It was beautiful. But her mood contrasted so strongly with the beauty that she couldn't really enjoy it.

"I can't _believe_ him," she muttered. "Running around with swords, bringing his brother and sisters with him. Hasn't our family lost enough?" She lowered herself down onto a stone bench beneath a flowering tree, hoisting the fabric of the skirt so it wasn't crushed under her. "Look at me. Sitting in this gown in a land that logically shouldn't exist. It's taken my children from me; I shouldn't enjoy it at all. Yet somehow…I do like it." She looked upward through the branches of the tree and took in the blue sky above. Everything about this place seemed…more _real_ somehow than it did back home. She let out a soft sigh. "Henry, I wish you were here. I don't know what to do."

A rustling to her right alerted her to another presence and Helen tore her gaze from the heavens and her eyes widened at what she saw.

"I am not this Henry you speak of, dear Lady, but perhaps I could be of assistance, even if only as an ear for your troubles."

Helen didn't reply at first. It wasn't really surprising, seeing as she was faced with the largest lion she had ever seen. His golden coat glistened in the sunlight and his warm eyes regarded her with what she easily make out as compassion.

Uncertain how to address him, and a little uneasy about speaking to an animal, she simply said, "I don't know what you could do to help me other than listen, good Lion. My troubles can't be solved, unless you can turn back time and give me back my children as I knew them."

The lion padded closer and Helen couldn't help the small shiver of trepidation at being so close to what in England was a dangerous animal. The great cat seemed to notice her reaction, and lowered himself to the ground to lay beside her and the tree.

He turned away and directed his gaze toward the trees. "I do not have that ability," he said. "But, please, tell me why you want your children to change? Have they become something so horrible that you can't live with them as they are?"

The woman immediately shook her head from side to side. "No, oh Lord, no," she said. "They are greatly loved here, and I know they are good people. But I can't help but feel I missed out on an important part of their lives as they grew up here. Even though they are physically the same as I remember them, I don't recognize their minds or what's in their hearts."

A small sigh escaped the lion at that and Helen looked toward him with furrowed brows. He spoke gently, and with a little sadness. "I am sorry Narnia took this from you, Lady Helen," he said. "Even more, I am sorry that I cannot give it back. But perhaps you can get to know the Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy that Narnia knows and loves as her Kings and Queens. Perhaps, when you do, you will find they aren't really different from the children you knew."

"Do you know them? Their…new…selves?" She suddenly asked the lion, her gaze boring into his. "I have only their explanations, and a very incomplete summary of everything that they have been through."

The lion nodded sagely. "I do know them," he said, shifting so that he was now looking at Helen. "The boy you know as Peter Pevensie, I know – but I also know him as High King Peter, the Magnificent, who stepped up when Narnia was new to him and led an army to save my people, my family. Edmund Pevensie, I also know as King Edmund the Just, who learned from his betrayal of his family and became one of the most even-handed of any I have ever met – metering out justice fairly every time."

He paused and looked to the woods again. "Susan Pevensie, she I know as Queen Susan the Gentle. While swift and deadly with her bow and arrows, she is also as gentle as a soft breeze on a summer's day. Watch her with the children and you would see what I mean. Lastly, Lucy Pevensie. She I know also as Queen Lucy the Valiant. Nothing stands in the way of her faith towards me, though … I expect at times her faith in herself might waiver. She is valiant in all she does – whether it's planning for a ball, standing on a battlefield, or riding out to administer cordial to mortally wounded warriors. They have become everything that I could ever have hoped for, and I am very proud of them."

The lion's use of the possessive terms triggered a thought that Helen had mostly buried when Peter had told her about Narnia. The woman eyed the lion closer. "Forgive me," she said. "But…are you Aslan?"

Yellow eyes locked on her face again and the lion gave a small nod. "I am," he said.

Helen nodded. She wasn't sure what to feel for this being. He had a way about him that made her want to believe in him, that made her want to like him. But a part of her was angry at him, because he was the one created this land, Peter had told her, and he was the one who had called upon her children to save it.

"Why my children?" she asked. "Why not four others? And why Lucy and Edmund? They are so very young…"

It was a rhetorical question, but Aslan answered it anyway.

"Because it was their destiny," he said, and at first, Helen made to scoff at that, unsure that she believed in destiny. But one look into Aslan's eyes stopped her. They glowed with an inner strength and power the likes of which she had never seen, and probably never would again, and she was reminded that Peter had told her Aslan was the King Above All Kings.

The look he was giving her lent credence to that title.

The spell was broken when he continued speaking. "As for your second question," he said, "each of them possesses qualities that strengthen and support the weaknesses of their siblings. Peter and Susan alone would not have been able to save Narnia, nor rule her as well as the four together. Their greatest strength is their family."

Aslan turned toward Helen. "You are part of that family, even if you missed out on some of their lives," he said. "There is much you do not know about their lives in Narnia. Ask them. Or ask others. Learn to know them as they are now and don't mourn for what is past. You can never get it back."

Helen sighed. "I know," she said quietly. "I'm having trouble letting _go_. When Peter all but orders me to stand down, my motherly instincts scream at me to react. How do I turn them off?"

The great lion chuckled. "You cannot," he said. "Motherly instincts have no end. I expect when your children have children of their own, you will still feel these instincts. Instead of getting angry at him for doing what he must, support him in it as best you can. You are a strong woman, Helen Pevensie. I know you can do this or I would not have brought you here."

That drew Helen's attention. "Brought me here?"

Aslan nodded gravely. "Yes," he said. "You have a purpose here, just as your children and their young friend Quentin do. It is up to you to figure out what that purpose is. Now, I must go. There are things that must be done to curtail this threat on Narnia." He rose to his feet and locked eyes with her one last time. "Remember that King Peter, Queen Susan, King Edmund, and Queen Lucy reside within Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy Pevensie. They are now forever entwined. Trust them. I have faith they will not lead Narnia astray."

And in a flash of ruffling golden fur, he was gone into the forest, leaving Helen sitting on the stone bench alone, her hair fluttering in the breeze.

* * *

_Healing chamber… _

Edmund could vaguely make out murmurs from somewhere to his right, but he couldn't tell what was being said or who was saying it. Then the pain came and it felt like someone had lobbed off his leg at the thigh. Groaning, he forced himself to open his eyes and blinked against bright light streaming through the nearby window. The sun was going down and it was angled just right to hit him straight in the face.

A shadow suddenly came between his head and the window and Edmund was able to keep his eyes open and take in the sight of his younger sister and just beyond her his older one.

"Lu?" he asked, his voice coming out as little more than a croaky whisper. "We made it back then?" He could see he was in Cair Paravel – even the healing chamber was identical to the one he had known during the Golden Age. He'd spent more than his fair share of time here, and was as familiar with it as he was with his own quarters.

Lucy smiled and brushed a stray bit of hair out of Edmund's face. "Yeah, we made it," she said. "After you passed out on Susan, Peter took you onto his horse and we rode on ahead. You lost a lot of blood, Ed. We were really worried for you."

Swallowing, he took stock of the rest of his body's aches. When he flexed his right wrist, he yelped and held his breath until the sharp pain eased some. Looking down at the wrist, Edmund saw it was wrapped. He must have injured it when he fell to the ground.

"Is Peter all right? Why isn't he here?" Edmund said, noticing for the first time that his older brother, who was usually ever-present when he was injured, was nowhere to be seen. "And Mum? I thought for sure she'd be here."

Lucy frowned and glanced at Susan beside her. "Well, there was a bit of an argument," she said slowly. "Mum and Peter got into a fight about the meeting going so badly, and you getting injured. She tried to tell him that our part in this was over. I'm sure you can imagine how _that_ went over with Peter."

Edmund groaned. "Oh, can I…" he muttered. "So they both left then?"

Susan, who'd gotten the story from Lucy already, chimed in here. "Mum stormed off, and I'm about to go and look for her. Tumnus and Parsus kicked Peter out. I'm not sure where he went."

Remembering something, Edmund glanced toward Parsus and Tumnus who were bustling about on the far side of the chamber. "Did he get checked out?" he asked. "The wound on his back?"

Lucy shook her head. "Come to think of it, no," she said sheepishly. "But I'm sure he's all right. I heard Tumnus send one of their apprentices to your room with supplies, so maybe he took care of it."

The dark-haired boy couldn't help the yawn that escaped and when he was finished with it, he focused on Lucy and Susan blearily. "Why don't you guys go find Mum and Peter?" he said. "They probably need more support right now than I do. Matter of fact, I think I'll just take a little nap. I'm beat."

Lucy smiled and pulled the blanket up for him. "Yes, rest," she said. "Best thing for you. We'll be sure to let you know if we get any news."

As he settled back to sleep, Lucy turned to Susan. "Mum was really upset," she said. "You'd probably be better helping her than I could. I'm going to go and try to find Peter. I'll check some of the places he used to go when we were ruling here."

Susan nodded in agreement and the two girls quietly left the chamber, breaking off in completely opposite directions – the older toward the library, since Mrs. Pevensie had been there before; the younger toward the orchards, since Peter had always favored them.

* * *

_Kitchens… _

The smell of fresh-baked bread wafted through the large kitchen and Narnians and Telmarines alike bustled about preparing dinner. Each had an assigned task and none of them strayed far from it – save one.

A dark-haired man warily glanced around him, making absolutely certain no one was watching him at the moment. Preparations for the evening meal usually took more effort than breakfast or lunch, as more attended this event than the previous ones.

If he didn't move, he was going to be late.

Ducking through the kitchen door, the man briskly wove through the orchard. Bending to pass under branches laden with ripe fruit, he soon came to the edge of the orchard and waited beside an old elm tree. He didn't have to wait long.

With a shrill "caw" a black crow, larger than one might expect a crow to be, soared down through the upper branches of the forest and alighted on one of the lowest of the elm's branches – a mere foot above the Telmarine.

"What task have you today, Crow?" the man said, shifting nervously. He was always wary when he met with Karis' messenger. Not just because it was a Narnian, but because of the proximity to the castle.

The creature lifted up one of its wings to reveal a carefully sealed parchment bound to it's body. "A letter, as usual," it said, waiting for the man to reach up and remove it. When that was done, he lifted the other wing and revealed a vial. "Also something to remind our enemies what it means to cross Lord Karis, rightful King of Narnia."

Reaching up again, the man pulled the vial from the crow's body and held it up to the waning sunlight. "Did he give instructions as to what I am to do with it?"

With a flap of its wings, the Crow replied: "Oh, he did, he most definitely did."

Leaning down, the bird spoke quietly and quickly into the man's ear as if speaking any louder would bring Narnia's protectors running to thwart them. As it spoke, the man's eyes widened and he nodded in understanding.

"Tell his Lordship that it shall be done," he said, backing away from the Crow.

As the bird flew away, he was already contemplating how to bring about the next part of Karis' plan.

* * *

_Peter, Edmund and Quentin's chamber… _

Quentin watched as an exhausted Peter slept fitfully. The disastrous meeting, Edmund's injury and the argument with his mother had left his usually high-spirited friend in more turmoil than the boy could remember seeing before. That Peter was sleeping right now and not trying to be the good host was testament to how badly he was shaken.

Soft footfalls outside the doorway alerted him to an approaching presence before the actual knock on the heavy wood. Quentin was actually surprised he had heard them – he wasn't usually so alert to the sounds around him.

"Must be Peter and Ed rubbing off on me," he muttered as he called out a soft "Coming" and moved to open the door for the newcomer.

The waning light from the window lit on Helen Pevensie, standing awkwardly in the doorway, her pale blue dress contrasting sharply with her dark hair.

She gazed past Quentin, taking in the sleeping Peter, and then focused on the boy in front of her. "I had hoped to speak with my son," she said quietly. "But if he's asleep, I can come back later."

The sorrow in her voice tore at Quentin's heartstrings, just as Peter's obvious anguish had earlier. He reached out on an impulse and gripped the woman's wrist gently. "Why don't you sit with him until he wakes?" he suggested. "I told Lord Trufflehunter I would meet him in the library for more stories before dinner and I'm already running late."

He had done no such thing, but it was a good enough tale and all he could think up at the moment.

Helen hesitated, but nodded and stepped inside the room when Quentin shifted to the side to let her pass. He quietly watched her approach the bed and when she sat down on the edge, barely shifting the large mattress as she did, he pulled the door shut and left them to their reconciliation – or at least he _hoped _that's what he was leaving them to do.

In the chamber, Helen watched her eldest son sleeping. She could tell it wasn't a peaceful, rejuvenating sleep. His brow was furrowed, as if he was in the throws of a bad dream. _Perhaps he is_, she thought for a moment. After all, in her upset earlier, she had taken little time to consider how Peter might feel about his brother being injured; she'd only focused on the fact Edmund _had_ been hurt and how it had happened.

Peter suddenly tossed violently to the side, knocking into Helen who let out a soft gasp of surprise. She was shocked when her son's blue eyes snapped open at the sound and she found herself staring a small dagger in the face.

When he realized what he was doing, Peter's eyes widened and he fairly flung the small blade away, scrambling backwards as best he could with his legs stuck under the covers.

"Mum! I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. "It's force of habit. I didn't mean to do that." Realizing he was babbling, the young man stopped speaking immediately and his brows furrowed. "What are you doing on my bed? You haven't watched me sleep since I was Edmund's age."

Helen's eyes hardened as she thought of her baby boy laid up in the infirmary. She was glaring at the thought of the men who did it, but Peter thought she was glaring at him and his heart hurt for it.

Seeing his blue eyes cloud, Helen realized her expression was hard and softened it with a quiet sigh. Shifting so she was facing him more, she swallowed the lump in her throat and took a moment to study her son.

He had grown a few inches during the school term and she thought inwardly he probably stood about as tall as Henry had now. Thinking of her husband brought a pang of sorrow, as it always did, but she cast it off and moved on to take in Peter's rumpled clothing and the small crease on his cheek from the pillow.

While he had been a soldier, and obviously a King as well, he was still her little Petey in some ways, and she felt crushing guilt for her actions earlier as she realized that.

"Mum?" he prompted. "Can I help you with something?"

She looked into his eyes.

"You can forgive me, if you can find it within yourself to do so," she said quietly. "I was so very wrong earlier, to blame you for Edmund's injury. I…I was wrong to try and command you to stop being who you are."

Peter's head cocked to the side at that. "What do you mean, who I am?" Hope flitted in his chest, but he quashed it down, fearing another let down if he let it soar.

Reaching forward, Helen grabbed Peter's hand and began to idly play with it like a nervous child. The young man didn't pull away, but he did look at her hand holding his in confusion.

Helen held the hand up a little. "This is the same hand I wrapped when you fell out of that tree when you were five," she said. "But…it's also the same hand that has fought in battles and held a sword…a hand that has killed. I was having such a hard time accepting that, but someone told me that the Peter _I know_ and the Peter in front of me aren't really all that different. And I would like the chance to start over here, Peter dear."

She could feel the moment of tenseness those words brought, but didn't realize it was for her choice of words and not her sentiments that Peter had tensed.

For his part, Peter's heart began leaping in his chest and a small smile crept across his face. "I know it's hard for you," he said. "It was hard for us, in the beginning. I've had a lifetime to get used to everything, and you've only had a few days. I can't count the times I wished you were here during our reign, Mum. Now that you are, I want to lean on you so badly. But I have to do my duty, and that means I have to sometimes order you to do things – or not to do things."

She nodded, still holding his hand gently in her own. "I didn't want to accept it before, but I'm willing to do so now," she said. "I love you, Peter, and I'm afraid I let my fear of being unable to protect you, unable to hold any kind of control over your wellbeing, get in the way of that and for that I am truly sorry."

Peter's head fell slightly and he nodded. "I'm sorry too," he said. "I shouldn't have gotten angry at you either, but I was hurt and sometimes I lash out. I haven't done it in ages, but you seem to bring out the old Peter, I suppose." He said it with a chuckle, remembering some distinctly un-Kingly behavior at the beginning of his reign that had taken years to iron out.

Shifting his hand so that it was he holding Helen's hand now, Peter drew his mother's hand closer to him. "I remember all the times you tended cuts and bruises, and a few hard-learned lessons these hands dealt," he said. "I don't want you to stop being my mother. But for the moment, at times, perhaps suspend it a bit."

Helen remembered Aslan's words and smiled. "Well one can't get rid of motherly instincts, Peter," she said. "But I will do my best to squash them when your subjects are listening."

"All I can ask is that you try," Peter said.

The two sat opposite one another in awkward silence for a moment, each itching to comfort the other and each afraid the other wouldn't want that comfort.

Finally, Helen recalled Peter's words when they first came to Narnia. He wanted to lean on her. And by the lion, as she'd heard Lucy say a few times already – she was going to let him.

Reaching forward, Helen pulled her son into a tight embrace. His arms slowly came around her waist and tightened as he burrowed his head into her shoulder.

A quiet sigh escaped the young man and Helen gently kissed the top of his head. Pulling back slightly, he looked up at her watery eyes and watched in alarm as a tear slid from one of them.

Pulling his arm free, but refusing to relinquish the hold his other arm had, he wiped it away. "Mum? Are you all right? Please don't cry…"

Helen smiled through her tears, more of which were falling now. "I'm so proud of you, Peter," she said. "I should have been telling you that instead of berating you. You are so like your father. Loyal, brave, sometimes foolhardy – but always for a good cause."

The two took a moment to remember Henry Pevensie before Peter pulled away and winced at the pang of pain that ripped through his wound. Helen straightened her back and held Peter at arm's length.

"You're hurt!" She exclaimed. "How could I have been so callous!?" Fresh tears built up and threatened to fall, but somehow she held them in as she urged Peter to turn around. He grumbled the whole way, but obeyed.

The woman made short work of revealing the wound and Peter could hear her sniffle. Craning his neck, he turned his head to see her staring sadly at the gash.

"It's nothing much, Mum," Peter said. "Just a scratch really."

Helen raised her eyes to meet his and shook her head. "Scratch? Peter, I shouldn't have treated you the way I did when you were hurt and worried for Ed. Even if you only sported a paper cut, I shouldn't have been so callous."

She prevented him from turning toward her by insisting on rebinding the wound. Peter winced as she cleaned away the blood that had seeped out since Quentin had tended it, but otherwise kept still and silent.

Tentatively, Helen broached the quiet that had enveloped the room. "Can you grab that roll of bandages there, Peter dear?" Before he could stop himself, Peter cringed and Helen pulled back abruptly. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

Clearing his throat, Peter shook his head lightly. "No, but if you could, try not to say 'Peter dear' anymore. It brings back memories I'm not so fond of…"

Helen nodded, then realized Peter couldn't see her and spoke. "All right, Peter. But…why does it bother you, if you don't mind me asking?"

For a moment, he contemplated not telling her, but she had offered him a shoulder to lean on and it was high time he faced his fear of that simple phrase.

"The White Witch used to call me that, and even though we only actually met a few times, it still gets to me even now, more than fifteen years later," he said. "Despite all the years that went by, it's those words that send chills through me more so than remembering her face. The way she said it, just sounded almost _motherly_, but meant something very different."

He pulled his shirt collar down in front and twisted toward Helen, showing her the scar at the center of his chest where Jadis had nearly stabbed him with Rhindon. It was only a small line, but had been deep enough to leave a thick scar_._ "She gave me this the last time we were here," he said. "I couldn't do a thing to stop her because I couldn't feel my legs at the time. Being unable to do anything basically describes all my dealings with her."

Peter's eyes clouded over as his memories surfaced.

"I couldn't stop Ed from going to her in the first place. I couldn't stop her from taking him as a traitor – Aslan did that. I couldn't stop her from nearly killing Ed at Beruna. I couldn't kill her when we fought at Beruna – Aslan did that too. I couldn't fight her for him when she came back at Aslan's How. Everything I did in regards to her was a failure," he said. "Maybe that's why hearing that phrase bothers me so much. Once we were crowned, there were very few times when we didn't come out victoriously."

Helen pursed her lips. She didn't understand everything that he had said, since her knowledge of her children's' pasts in Narnia was more of a glossing over of events – but she could see how profoundly failure seemed to impact Peter.

He got it from her, in some ways.

"Peter," she said, her voice taking on her best "motherly" tone. "You were a young boy, thrust into a position you weren't prepared for and from what you've told me, you did very well in coping. This _witch_ had been ruling Narnia for how long? At least a hundred years, right?"

At Peter's nod, she continued. "So what makes you think you stood a chance of immediately swooping in and overthrowing her all by yourself?"

Peter felt like grumbling like a child. "I was expected to be Narnia's High King," he said. "I had to!"

But Helen scoffed. "The Narnians seem like smart folk to me, Peter…" she had to restrain the use of "dear" and paused for a moment. "They know you did the best you could and I'll bet if you could ask any of them what they think of your dealings with this Witch – they wouldn't remember them as failures."

Peter shook his head, not willing to accept that. "But I didn't stop her. Aslan killed her."

Helen put a hand on his shoulder. "You tried," she said. "You did what you could. The outcome was a good one, focus on that, not the false steps along the way."

The blond nodded and allowed Helen to pull him into a hug again. It felt good to talk about his feelings. As the oldest, too often he felt he couldn't seek advice and comfort from his siblings – didn't want to burden them with his problems when they had their own.

He held a little tighter as footsteps drew up to the door. Peter didn't want the moment to end, but if it was a valet or some other Narnian, he didn't want to have them walk in on the High King having an emotional meltdown with his mother.

Breaking apart, he vainly tried to straighten his tunic and push his hair down. Helen watched with amusement, since it wasn't really doing any good.

They were surprised when no one knocked, but less so when they heard the light banter beyond the doorway. "I can't find him _anywhere_," Lucy's voice said through the heavy door. "He's got to be here. But what if he's sleeping? He was hurt in that battle, you remember."

Susan's voice sounded in response. "Well, I think we need to go and wake him even if he _is_ sleeping," she said. "I can't find Mum and no one has seen her since she stormed out of the hospital wing. We need to alert Peter she might be missing."

Peter and Helen exchanged looks and the latter stood and moved to the door, pulling it open to reveal the two Queens about to open the door.

"Mum!" Lucy exclaimed, launching herself into the woman's embrace. "We thought we'd lost you!"

Helen hugged her youngest child back and smiled. "No, I'm not lost," she said. "I was just making amends, dear." Susan looked past the woman and took in the disheveled Peter now standing beside the rumpled bed.

Helen followed his gaze and as Susan hugged her, the woman extended her arm and beckoned Peter to join them. He hesitated only a moment before wrapping his arms around her and Susan.

"So you two are all right, then?" Lucy asked, looking between Peter and Helen.

Peter smiled. "We are," he said.

The girls smiled broadly. "Oh good!" Lucy said. "I just checked in on Ed and he's really grumpy. Someone needs to go and cheer him up." His gaze fell firmly on Peter. "He's moping that he won't be able to compete in the tournament. You've got to tell him something, he's driving me completely crazy."

Peter frowned. "Well, he _can't_ in his condition…" he said, but cut himself off when Lucy glared at him, her hand fingering her diamond cordial bottle as her eyebrows rose in question. "Lu…" he began, but her brows rose further, if that were possible. "Oh…fine…" he relented. "But just this once. We don't want to waste it."

She smiled broadly again and made to take off down the corridor. Peter's hand on her shoulder stopped her. "You might want to do it without him knowing," the High King said. "After all, he likely won't accept it otherwise."

Helen looked to Susan to explain.

"Lu's cordial will heal his wounds so he can compete," she said. "But we usually only give it to those with mortal wounds. Very rarely would Peter let us use it otherwise. But in this case, morale is important for the Telmarines and the Narnians, so giving it to Ed has some merit."

The woman nodded and the four started plotting how best to sneak Edmund a drop of the precious fire-flower cordial.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I'm** _so _**sorry for the delay! I've been working on my book and getting ready for my twins' second birthday party so I haven't had a lot of time to write fan fiction. And I didn't just want to rush through the tournament -- though I kind of feel compared to some of my other scenes, it might be considered a little fast. I'm hoping with the birthday over on the 16th, I will have more time to write! Thanks for sticking with me! And special thanks to ****_Phoenixqueen_**** for her beta work and to ****_Violet Fire Krazed_**** for PMing me and telling me to please get the chapter out!**

Part Ten:

_Cair Paravel Healing Wing…_

Edmund had woken from his nap a short time ago and was idly fingering the edge of his blanket out of sheer boredom. In all the years that he had been in Narnia, he could honestly say that there was almost nothing that he hated about it – but the one thing he _did_ hate was sitting or lying in a sickbed with absolutely nothing to do, while being guarded by overprotective healers.

He glanced at the door for what was probably the hundredth time, before turning his attention to where Parsus and Tumnus were working at the far end of the room. He quickly realized that they weren't doing anything remotely interesting, however, so instead he turned his attention back to the door, wondering if someone would come through it if he stared at it long enough and willed it hard enough.

_Maybe it actually works_, he thought with surprise as the door suddenly opened to admit his mother and all three of his siblings. Edmund was pleased to see that Peter and their mother were together, smiling – and not sniping at each other. He hoped that meant that they had reconciled their differences regarding his injury and his mother's attitudes about having to let them do what needed to be done.

"Edmund!" Helen cried, outpacing the other three as she hurried to reach her youngest son's bed first. Perching carefully on the edge, so as not to jar his leg, she didn't hesitate to lean forward and pull him into a warm hug. "I'm so glad to see you awake!" she exclaimed. "How are you feeling?"

Edmund paused before he answered as he took stock of his condition. "All right, I suppose. My leg and wrist are sore, but not too bad, considering. I'm a little tired too, but Tumnus says that's just from the blood loss and that a good night's sleep will do wonders." He looked up as Peter reached the bed and grinned mischievously. "You really should be asking Peter, though. He's the one who managed to avoid having the healers fawn over him."

Helen returned his grin with one of her own. "He might have avoided the healers, but he wasn't able to avoid Quentin or myself," she corrected. "His wound has been tended to, Edmund." Peter rolled his eyes, but nodded in agreement, which brought a short laugh from Edmund.

"Well, I'm glad someone held him down long enough to see to it, Mum," he said, glancing at the door again as Lucy met a servant and took hold of a tray laden with tea and biscuits. The youngest Queen smiled and thanked the servant before bringing the tray over to Edmund's bed and beginning to pour tea for everyone.

His stomach rumbled, which drew a wide grin from Peter. "Hungry much, Ed?" the older King asked, which earned him a glare from his younger brother. "You'll have to ask Lucy to share, although at first glance it does look like she has more than enough to go around."

Lucy smiled and picked up one of the cups. "Of course there's enough, Peter!" she retorted good-naturedly as she handed the cup, which was full of sweet-smelling, amber liquid to Edmund. "Here you go, Edmund. Drink up and you'll feel much better."

He took the proffered cup of tea and snatched a biscuit from the tray. "Not soon enough," he grumbled. "Unless this is a magic biscuit that can heal my leg and wrist in time for the tournament tomorrow, I won't be competing." He sighed. "I was really looking forward to it too."

The others exchanged glances and Peter sighed. "If you like, I won't compete either…"

Edmund cut him off before he could complete the thought. "Oh, yes, you will, Peter Pevensie," he said firmly. "Narnia needs to remain ignorant of Miriam's disappearance as long as possible. Having their legendary High King compete in this tournament will go a long way towards accomplishing that."

The older King nodded and held his hands up in surrender. "All right, Ed, keep your crown on," he said. "I'll do it." Inwardly he wondered if he'd make a fool of himself. After all, his back was still quite sore and stiff, and it had been some time since he'd last competed in a tournament. But he wasn't about to mention either of those things.

Lucy watched as Edmund took a third biscuit and drained his cup of tea, having snuck a second while Peter was speaking. Inwardly, she smiled as Edmund placed the cup back on the tray, devoid of all liquid.

Peter eyed her and she nodded slightly.

With a broad smile on his face, Peter suddenly reached out and poked Edmund sharply in his wounded leg. The younger boy yelled loudly and closed his eyes, anticipating the flash of pain that would travel down his leg – but was absolutely floored when the expected pain didn't come. He cracked one eye open slightly to see Peter turning red with suppressed laughter at his brother's reaction.

Lucy had her hand over her mouth, stifling her giggles, and Susan was smiling sagely from behind her. Helen slid back along the bed as Edmund, realizing what must have happened, suddenly launched himself from under the covers of his bed, all but tackling Peter. The two of them tumbled to lie flat on the bed and a mini-wrestling match occurred, with Edmund trying to pin his older brother to the blankets.

"Why you…Peter! That could really have hurt, you know!" he exclaimed, almost giddy with excitement. Lucy had given him a drop of her cordial, and he knew it had been a concerted effort on all of their parts if Peter had been the one to poke him to make sure it had worked. "But…well…_thank you_. I am floored that you would let her use it for such a trivial wound, but…_thank you_, Peter."

The older King smiled. "Thank Lucy, Ed," he said, easily squirming out of his brother's grasp by dint of his being older, stronger, and taller. "It was her legendary glare that got me to agree to it."

With a huge smile, Edmund covered the distance between himself and his little sister and grabbed her up in a breath-stealing hug, lifting her clear off her feet. He twirled her around the room, causing her to let out a high-pitched, strangled "Edmund" at his antics, but she laughed when he set her gently back on her feet.

Helen watched and in that moment she could readily see the Edmund and Lucy that she knew from London. Shifting her glance toward Peter and Susan, she _saw_ the same shift in their personas. When they weren't acting in their royal capacities, they really _were_ her children – just as she remembered them.

Shaking her head, she looked toward the door as it was flung open with a crash that had Peter and Edmund reaching for weapons they weren't actually carrying at the moment. Lucy and Susan had moved instinctively closer to their brothers as well, at the same time neatly placing themselves between their mother and the perceived threat.

"My Kings and Queens," a panting Faun gasped from the doorway, clutching his chest as he tried to calm his racing heart. "King Caspian asked me to fetch you. He has received another message from Karis – and a token of some kind. He awaits your presence in the throne room."

Peter and Edmund exchanged glances. From their dealings with the giants and other Fell Creatures, they could only imagine what such a token might be. The possibilities were endless and did not bode well for Lady Miriam.

"We'll come straight away," Peter told the messenger before he turned to his mother. "Could you find Quentin? He may have gone to the library. I think I'd like him to be there for this as well. He may have some good input."

Helen nodded and Peter was pleased that she didn't argue. It meant that she was really trying, as she had promised she would. As Helen disappeared in the direction of the library, the Kings and Queens made their way toward the throne room. Despite the urgency of the situation, all four of them were careful to keep at a slow, sedate walk to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to themselves. As they approached the throne room, they could see that Caspian had also had the most trusted members of his Council summoned.

When they arrived, Caspian did a double-take at seeing Edmund on his feet and about, but quickly realized what must have happened. Right now he had a more distressing issue at hand and he gripped something tightly in his right hand. The letter rested in his left. He looked up at Peter, a bleak expression on his face. "We've received word…" he began.

"We know, Caspian. We came as soon as the messenger told us what had happened," Peter cut him off to save him from having to explain. He glanced at the letter, which was partially crumpled in Caspian's fist.

Caspian swallowed hard before extending the letter to Peter so the High King could read it for himself. Peter took the crisp, crumpled parchment and unfolded it, smoothing out the wrinkles. His eyes skimmed it quickly before he read it aloud for his brother, sisters, and the Council members. "'You were warned the safety of Lady Miriam depended upon your cooperation with my demands. Since you _did_ meet with me, you complied halfway. In return, I shall only follow halfway through on my warnings. Your gift is just the beginning…I shall be in touch soon.'" He lowered the letter. "It's signed, 'Karis, the true King of Narnia,'" he finished.

Peter looked up at Caspian, noting the clenched fist. "What gift?"

Slowly, Caspian unclenched his hand, revealing a bloody lock of dark brown hair. The sticky red liquid had mostly dried, but it left red smudges on Caspian's palm anyway. As he showed to Peter, he also stared at it and imagined how painful it must have been for Miriam, to have it pulled from her head – for it had quite obviously been pulled, not cut.

Sensing his friend's turmoil, Peter placed a hand on Caspian's shoulder in an effort to comfort him. "She's alive, Caspian," he said soothingly. "We'll get her back. The party you sent to investigate the farmer's story might have found something to help us locate their hiding place. Don't let this token get to you – it's what he wants."

Caspian's voice was low and barely audible to the others who were standing further away from the two young men. "He _hurt_ her, Peter," he choked. "He ripped a chunk of hair out of her head. I just…I can't stand this. She's all alone…scared…hurting…waiting for me to find her. I can't sleep at night, I'm so worried for her."

The High King had noticed the bags and dark circles under the other King's eyes, and the pale, sickly complexion. He had suspected that Caspian was having trouble sleeping. Guilt and worry would do that to a man. He knew that all too well; it had been a problem for him many times during the Golden Age when one or more of his siblings were away or injured.

He pulled Caspian slightly off to the side and brought their heads close together to keep his words between the two of them. "I know," he said quietly. "I know it is difficult, Caspian. I've been in your position more times than I care to remember." He raised his voice so the others could hear. "But you're a King; you need to hold firm. For your kingdom, for General Glozelle…and for Miriam. Don't let this madman get to you by pulling on your heartstrings." He released Caspian and turned slightly to look at Edmund.

The youngest King stepped forward at the silent invitation and nodded in agreement. "He wants you to feel guilty and fearful. He wants you off balance and vulnerable. That's why he sent you this. And…that's why you must go on as if it you aren't affected by it," the younger boy said sagely. "Until the next communication, or until the party sent to the Lantern Waste returns, there is _nothing_ you can do but keep the rest of the kingdom oblivious and calm. The best way to do that…"

"…is to compete in the tournament."

General Glozelle stepped forward as he spoke, his eyes shifting to the bloody lock of hair in Caspian's hand. A small shudder ripped through him momentarily before he squashed it and raised his eyes to meet his King's. "It will be hard, my liege, but if you compete, then anyone who thinks something is amiss will no longer believe any rumors," he continued. "King Peter and King Edmund are right. Worrying – berating ourselves – will do nothing to help Miriam."

Caspian looked between his fellow Kings, the Queens, his Council…all of them good friends, all of them lending him their full support. He looked beyond them and caught sight of Quentin and Helen standing at the back of the group. There was a look of sympathy on both faces, although Quentin also looked a little green at the sight of the bloody hair he still held in his hand. Helen also appeared troubled, but the sympathy on her face far outweighed her personal reaction to the gruesome token. For a moment, his heart lurched. He wished he had a mother to lean on sometimes. The emotion on her face and in her eyes made him want to sob into her shoulder.

"I understand," he said quietly. "And I will do it." He slowly released the grip on the hair he held and it fell to the floor beside his throne, deceptively graceful as it landed. "Karis won't get to me. His token, while gruesome, does not mean that Miriam is badly wounded or dead. That is a welcome bit of news."

Peter smiled. "It is," he said. "Are all the preparations made for tomorrow?" A change of subject seemed to be the best idea at the moment, he decided.

"Yes," the Telmarine King replied, nodding firmly. "Though I see we are going to have to add King Edmund back to the list of competitors for the dual-sword event…"

Edmund smiled cheekily, and Glozelle let out a good-natured groan, knowing who his greatest challenger was going to be.

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_Dinner…that night…_

Caspian turned toward the herald stationed at the far end of the High Table and nodded lightly. The Telmarine man nodded and bowed slightly in return before turning his attention to the rest of the Court who were assembled for the evening meal.

"Your attention please!" he cried out, his voice cutting easily through the quiet murmurs and echoing through the large chamber. Everyone immediately silenced and turned their attention to the High Table. "His Majesty, King Caspian, has an announcement he wishes to make."

Caspian rose to his feet and looked out at the assembled Narnians and Telmarines. "As you all know, the opening event of the tournament had to be postponed suddenly. Preparations have now been completed, and the tournament will begin at noon tomorrow. As I mentioned, we are fortunate to have several unexpected competitors this year. High King Peter will participate in the single-sword event, King Edmund in the dual-sword event, and Queen Susan has agreed to compete in the archery event."

There was an excited explosion of chatter at that, and Caspian raised a hand to quiet the voices so he could finish his announcement. "I, myself, will be competing in the joust, and as an additional bonus, High King Peter has graciously consented to ride in an exhibitionary bout against the winner of the joust."

The Narnians, who were more familiar with the legends of Peter's skill on the tournament fields began to murmur loudly at that revelation, which stirred up the rest of the gathering as they quietly began to debate and place wagers on the outcomes of the different events. Caspian smirked at Peter. Peter just rolled his eyes at the other King and reached for his goblet, draining the cup with one long swallow.

Caspian turned his attention outward again. "I wish the best of luck to all entrants," he finished before stepping away from his seat. Everyone hastened to rise as their King turned and exited the dining hall through a door just behind the dais, the other diners at the High Table following him out.

Off to the side of the room, a servant smirked before making his way up to the High Table to begin clearing the place settings.

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Out from under the eyes of the masses, Caspian leaned against the wall in the corridor that was used by the royals for a quiet entrance or exit from the dining hall and offered his companions a crooked grin. "I suppose it's too late to pull out of the joust?" he asked wryly, with a short, puffed breath. "I'm not so sure I'm ready for it. I've only ever jousted against the good General."

Peter clapped him on the shoulder. "Please," the blonde replied. "You'll do fine. You _do_ remember the story of _my_ first joust, I'm sure…"

Caspian laughed. "Yes, I do recall someone mentioning the furrow you walked into the grass while you waited to compete," he teased. The light-hearted moment ended too quickly, and Caspian, try as he might to hold on to it, found himself slipping back into his earlier melancholy. "If you will excuse me, I think I need some rest. It has been a trying day, and tomorrow will be long."

Everyone nodded in agreement, and Caspian quickly bid good-night to his companions, lightly kissing the backs of the Queens' and their mother's hands and clasping the hands of the Kings and their friend. He turned and began heading down the corridor in the opposite direction from the residential wing. Susan and Lucy bid the rest of their family a quiet good-night before heading towards their room, Edmund and Quentin doing the same. Peter hesitated, uncertain whether he should follow Caspian and try to talk to him or not. A light hand on his shoulder drew his attention behind him. Helen was glancing past him in the direction Caspian had gone, her palm resting lightly on his tunic.

"Go on, Peter," she said quietly. "You need some sleep if you're going to compete in this tournament tomorrow. I'll go to him. If I interpreted his look earlier correctly, I suspect that he is in need of a little of the motherly attention you've been trying to get me to stop giving you since we arrived."

Peter started to apologize and explain things again, but the small smile on Helen's face stopped him. "_Mum_," he said, with an eye roll in her direction. "Very funny. But I think you're right about what Caspian needs right now." He looked in the direction the other King had gone. "He probably doesn't even realize that he needs it…he's never had the attentions of a mother before." Off of his mother's surprise look, he hastened to explain. "It's a long story, Mum. I'll explain later." When she nodded, he smiled and kissed her cheek. "Thanks."

Helen nodded, nudging Peter down the corridor in the direction his siblings had gone before turning to follow Caspian. She hurried after him, and as she approached the junction at the end of the corridor, she spotted him just rounding another corner. She wasn't certain, but she thought she recognized the area. He seemed to be heading for the small courtyard where she had spoken to Aslan earlier that day.

When he stepped out into the night air, her suspicion was confirmed.

She paused in the doorway and allowed her eyes adjust to the night-time darkness. The young man was seated on the same bench where she had been sitting earlier that day, his head in his hands, blowing out a harsh, shaky breath as he tried to contain his emotions. She couldn't see his face, but from the trembling in his shoulders and his heavy breathing, she had no doubt that he was thinking about the grim token he had received that afternoon.

She stepped out into the courtyard as she saw him swallow thickly, as if he was choking back tears. Her foot stirred the loose gravel of the path leading to the bench and he shot upright, his hand going for the dagger at his waist. She hastened to speak. "You don't need your dagger, Caspian. I'm not going to hurt you."

Caspian quickly tried to mask his emotions as he spotted her moving towards him. "How did you know that was what I was doing, my Lady?" he asked slowly, trying to maintain an even tone of voice. He winced. Even to his ears, his voice sounded nowhere close to even and calm.

Helen chuckled, softly. "Peter did the same thing to me when I accidentally woke him earlier," she replied. She paused in front of him for a moment, before gesturing at the bench where he was seated. "May I?"

Caspian shifted over and nodded, leaving room for Helen to seat herself on the stone bench. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, Caspian's curiosity got the better of him and he turned to study the dark-haired woman who had raised the Kings and Queens of Narnia – at least for part of their lives.

"Was there something I could assist you with, Lady Helen?" he asked uncertainly.

She shook her head. "No, but I rather thought there might be something that I could do for you," she responded. "I saw the look you gave me in the throne room, and I thought perhaps you could use a knowing, listening ear."

His brows furrowed. "Knowing? Have you lost someone close to you and worried that you would never see them alive again?" he asked. "I thought you were unaware that your children had gone anywhere, or were in any danger, before you arrived here?"

Tilting her head up to look through the branches above her at the foreign stars twinkling in the sky overhead, Helen sighed. "That's true," she agreed. "But I'm not talking about my children." She looked back down, this time looking at him. "I'm talking about Henry. My husband."

Caspian knew little of the Pevensies' father, save that he had died, and the only reason he knew that was because Peter had mentioned it in passing once. He found his natural curiosity rising as he studied the woman next to him. Although the topic was somewhat morbid, it was at least something that would distract him from his own worries.

Helen continued speaking. "In our…world… there is a great war going on. My husband left to fight in it – he volunteered – and every day I would wonder if he was alive or dead, hurt or alone…if he would come back to our children and I. One day I got my answer when two men came to the door and told us that he had been killed."

Caspian shifted uncomfortably, but his companion pressed on. "I thought it was over then," she said quietly. "But, not long after, the army called upon my son – upon Peter – to fight in the same war that had claimed his father's life and I went through the same emotions again. The worry, the waiting, the fear…but this time there was guilt as well since he was my child and I was supposed to protect him. It wasn't supposed to be the other way around."

She turned her gaze on Caspian fully. "I know what it is like to fear for a loved one's safety, to constantly wonder if they are all right, or if they are hurt or alone…or if they are even alive."

Caspian was silent for a long moment, looking up and away now. Expressing these kinds of feelings was new to him. Neither his aunt or his uncle had been overly demonstrative, and his uncle had frowned on what he had called "womanly" attitudes. Dr. Cornelius had always encouraged him to give rise to his feelings so they wouldn't overwhelm him, but Caspian had never been comfortable with the idea. After he met Miriam, she had been another one like his old tutor who had encouraged him to never be afraid to share his feelings.

When he did speak, his voice was very quiet. "I can't help but wonder if she's locked away in some cavern, cold and frightened and hurt. Can she see the same stars that I am looking at? Or…Aslan forbid…is she dead and Karis is simply lying to us." He turned back to face Helen. "How do you cope with all these feelings? How do you go on when you fear the worst?"

Helen saw the small trembles in Caspian's shoulders as he held his emotions in tightly. She boldly laid an arm over his shoulder, pulling him in towards her. He stiffened, but she wouldn't let go, and finally he relaxed into the embrace. She gave him several moments before she spoke again.

"You have faith," she said slowly. "Trust whatever higher power you believe in and know that whatever happens was always meant to happen. Even if a loved one _does_ die, they are never really gone from you. Believe that, and believe that you will see them again someday."

She sighed lightly. "It took me a long time to accept that after Henry died," she said. "Truth be told…I was an emotional wreck. I only kept going for the sake of Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. Then I remembered my faith and it helped me get through." She held on to Caspian's shoulders a little more tightly. "You'll get through this. You seem to me to be a strong young man. While I'm not all that familiar with your story, I do know you overcame astonishing obstacles to get to where you now are."

Caspian melted into the warmth the woman was offering and nodded. "I have to believe Aslan is watching over Miriam," he said slowly. "He never led the Kings and Queens – your children – astray. He must know what he is doing. And if…she is meant to perish…I at least know that Aslan's Country is a far better place than this one."

They sat in silence for a few minutes after Caspian's words, listening to the quiet night-time sounds. "Do you mind if I ask you a question now?" Helen broke the silence, loosing her grip on the young King's shoulders and letting him shift his position to ease the ache caused by the hard stone bench beneath him. At his nod, she frowned and then continued. "If you had to describe my children as _you _know them, what would you say about them?"

Caspian was momentarily taken aback by the question, but recovered quickly. "That is…an interesting question, Lady Helen," he began slowly. "But I shall try to answer it as best I can." He paused and thought for a moment before settling on an answer. "When your children were last in Narnia, each of them imparted something to me. It was nothing physical. Rather, through their actions, each of them taught me the traits that I needed to know in order to become King."

Thinking back, remembering those days, he continued. "I learned how selfless and strong a King must be from Peter when he stood before the minotaur who was holding up the gates of my uncle's castle so that every Narnian left standing could escape before the gates fell." Helen filed that away for future reference – Peter _would_ be explaining that one. She tuned back in as Caspian continued. "When Edmund killed the White Witch in order to save his siblings and the rest of our people, I learned that a King must not take the path of revenge, no matter how much he might desire it or feel that it is warranted. From Susan, I learned that a ruler must be strong in battle and firm in his decisions, but also gentle, because sometimes it takes a kind hand to do what must be done."

His pause was longer now as he realized that what he had learned from Lucy, he had been failing miserably in upholding over the last few days. "From your youngest child, I learned the importance of faith," he said quietly, his voice nearly a whisper. "And I am glad that you reminded me of it tonight, Lady Helen. When Queen Lucy rode out to find Aslan, by herself, in a wood filled with enemy soldiers, I realized what power there was in faith."

Helen was silent as she contemplated these things. It didn't take her long to realize that these traits which Caspian so admired in her children when they were acting in their roles as Narnia's monarchs were the same traits that she had observed in them when they were in London – traits that she had first noticed when they had returned from the evacuation. The King's words were further confirmation that what Aslan said was true – her Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy weren't gone and hadn't really changed all that much.

Caspian seemed to understand her silence. "It has been difficult for you, hasn't it?" he asked quietly. "Learning about Narnia and finding out that your children are not the way you remember them?"

Helen paused to consider her answer. "At first it was, yes," she admitted. "I think it was mostly just the shock…learning that other worlds exist, that my children were Kings and Queens. In addition, there was the fact that time moves differently here, that my children grew up and I wasn't here to see it. But…I've had some time to think and I've received some good advice, and I've come to realize that my children are still there…I just have to look harder in order to see it." She looked at Caspian for a long moment. "I don't know why I was brought here this time, but…if there's nothing else that I can do to help, I'll always be willing to listen if you need someone to talk to."

Caspian absorbed that offer quietly. "I thank you, Lady Helen."

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_Peter, Edmund, and Quentin's quarters…the next morning…_

Cracking his right eye open, Peter quickly slammed it shut again against the bright sunlight streaming in through the window beside the bed. He felt like he'd just fallen asleep, and he doubted that he'd gotten more than five hours of sleep all night.

Rolling over, careful not to wake a softly snoring Edmund, he kept his eyes closed until he was certain that the sun wasn't going to hit them the moment that he opened them again. Satisfied with his new position, he opened his eyes again and sat up, dangling his legs over the side of the bed.

Immediately he felt a headache blossoming in his temples and just barely managed to hold in a groan. Reaching his hands up to the sides of his head, he rubbed his temples in the hope of the dispelling the very slight, but still annoying ache in them.

After another moment he stood.

He promptly had to reach out and grasp the nearest solid object as a wave of dizziness nearly sent him to the ground and nausea overwhelmed him. "Whoa…" he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut again and holding his head as he sank back onto the bed. Waiting another moment, he felt the roiling in his stomach die down and decided the third time would be the charm.

Opening his eyes, he blearily looked around the room. At least this time, his head was only throbbing a little and he didn't feel like he was about to lose last night's dinner. With a sigh, he carefully stretched – feeling the sharp pull of pain from the wound across his shoulders and grimacing.

"This might be the first time I fall in the first round of a tournament," he muttered to himself as he took stock of his body, feeling a weariness that he hadn't felt the night before, attributing it to his wounds and lack of sleep.

A grumble and a groan from Quentin's bed interrupted him and he turned slightly to watch the dark-haired young man kick his at the covers entwined around his ankles. "Why do you guys have to get up so bloody early?" he whined, shaking his head back and forth on the pillow.

A small smile crept across Peter's face.

"Because Quen," he said with a chuckle, "the sun always manages to find its way into my eyes, and you want to try sleeping through that? Even pulling the blanket over my head never seemed to work." He paused. "Of course, if it did work, then it was an attendant knocking on the door to wake us up for an audience or a training session."

The other boy turned to glare at his friend, before the look turned to one of concern as he took in Peter's appearance.

"Pete," he said as he sat up. "Mate, you look terrible! Did you sleep at all last night?"

With a sigh, Peter nodded. "I did, but I still feel like I got hit by a train," he said. "Hopefully breakfast will perk me up a bit or I might wind up dispelling all those legendary rumors about my tournament skills."

"Legend? What legend?" a bleary voice asked.

Edmund's tousled head emerged from where it had been buried under the blanket. The dark-haired King rubbed sleep from his eyes before taking in Peter's appearance. "Aslan, Peter," he whispered. "You look a fright!"

Peter shook his head. "Thank you, Edmund. I've already been informed."

Edmund flung the blankets off of himself and rapidly stepped to Peter's side, pressing the back of his hand against his brother's forehead – grimacing when Peter pulled away, but not before the younger boy was able to feel the heat radiating from his brother.

"You're hot," he said. "You're sick."

But the blonde shook his head. "No, I'm not. I just got out of bed too, and I was under the covers. I'll bet you'll find your head to be just as warm, Ed." To prove his point, he grabbed Edmund's hand and pressed the back of it to his brother's head.

Edmund groaned, but noted that Peter really wasn't all that much hotter than he felt. "All right," he said slowly, "but if you're not feeling well, you shouldn't compete today."

Peter shook his head again. "I'm all right, Ed," he said. "Let's just get dressed and get moving. We don't want to keep Mum and the girls waiting like last night. I swear if Mum hadn't been wearing a long dress, we'd have seen her foot tapping impatiently."

Quentin chuckled. "It's Edmund's fault. He wouldn't shut up about you letting Lucy give him her cordial and all the times in the past when he'd been hurt worse and you didn't let her."

The boys were still light-heartedly bickering when they left the room ten minutes later.

************************************************************************

_Tournament grounds…_

Trumpets sounded across the field that had been chosen to hold the tournament grounds as Caspian, the four Pevensies, and Helen and Quentin walked down from the Cair together. All along the path, the Telmarines and Narnians bowed to the royals as they passed. Tents had been erected for the various competitors to use to don their armor before their matches. A viewing ground had been set up off to the side on a raised knoll so that all of the spectators had a clear view of the competition area. Closest to the front, but not impeding with the viewing knoll, was a set of chairs raised on a dais and covered with a canopy.

Caspian led the way to the raised dais and stood in front of the central seat as the others moved to stand next to theirs. Everyone gathered around and Caspian indicated that the other monarchs and their guests could take their seats. As they settled into the chairs, Caspian turned his attention to the assembly.

"Friends, honored guests, fellow monarchs!" he called, his voice ringing out over the assembly. "As King of Narnia, it is my great pleasure to welcome you to our first annual tournament!"

Cheers greeted this pronouncement, and Caspian let them continue for a few moments before he raised his hand, asking for silence, which he received. "It has taken a great deal of coordination to be able to organize this tournament, and my thanks go out to all of those who assisted with this venture. Thanks to the efforts that you put in, we are gathered here today to enjoy what will undoubtedly be fierce competition between the greatest warriors in our kingdom!"

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "Two years ago, it was my hope that we would be united and stronger than ever, Telmarine trusting Narnian and vie-versa. In the last two years, you have more than exceeded my expectations and my hopes. It is for you that we gather today, to celebrate the unity of our two peoples!"

More cheers and applause before Caspian continued. "Our competition today will consist of the joust, the single-sword, archery, and, to start us off, the dual-sword event!" He looked out at the assembled competitors before glancing at his fellow monarchs, who all had wide smiles on their faces. "Competitors, make your final preparations, and may the best warrior win!"

A thunderous cheer rose from the competitors at this pronouncement, and Caspian took a seat in his chair between Peter and Edmund. As the assembly disbanded, some to take their places on the viewing knoll, and the competitors to finish arming themselves, he smiled.

"An excellent speech," Peter said quietly, leaning over to speak to his fellow King. "You've been practicing, I see."

Caspian laughed softly at the other King's reference to his case of nerves before he made his first speech at the banquet that had been held to celebrate the victory over Miraz and the joining of the two groups. "I've had ample opportunity," he replied softly.

Peter rose to his feet and looked at his brother. "Come on, Ed," he said with a small chuckle as he clapped his brother on the shoulder. "We need to get you armored up before the match begins." He bowed to his sisters and mother as Edmund rose to his feet, quickly copying his brother. Peter smiled at them. "I'll be back shortly," he promised.

Together the two of them filed off of the dais, leaving Caspian sitting with Susan, Lucy, Helen, and Quentin. Caspian absently watched the preparations being made, as the ring was roped off and a Faun began making note of which competitors were ready, until a soft voice caught his attention. "What are the rules of this event?"

Caspian turned to look at Helen, who had leaned over to ask her oldest daughter the question. Susan opened her mouth to respond, before hesitating. "Actually, Mum, I'm not sure if they're the same as the ones from the single-sword event or not."

Caspian leaned forward slightly to catch Helen's eye. "They are quite similar, actually," he inserted, drawing the attention of all four of his companions. "A bout lasts to three points. Each competitor will be armed with two swords, instead of a sword and shield as in the single-sword. Points are scored whenever one fighter lands a blow that would be considered an injury-inducing or death-dealing blow in a real fight. The swords are blunted, so no one is harmed, and the competitors are required to pull their blows. Half-strength is the rule. If one of the judges feels that a blow hit with too much strength, the point won't be counted."

Helen's eyes narrowed when Caspian mentioned 'injury-inducing or death-dealing', although she relaxed a bit when he mentioned the safety precautions. "Does anyone ever get seriously hurt?" she asked, her voice a little tight with worry.

"We never had dual-sword events when we ruled," Susan explained. "There weren't that many warriors skilled enough in the dual-sword to make it worth the effort to hold a full event, although there were demonstration bouts between the best fighters at times. But there was never anything truly serious in the single-sword matches." She looked thoughtful. "I think the worst injury was a bruised rib when a Galman fighter tripped and fell and accidentally knocked his opponent off of his feet."

Before they could continue, they spotted Peter and Edmund returning. Peter ascended the dais, while Edmund leaned up against the wooden wall that had been erected to protect the monarchs' box and separate it from the ring. Edmund looked a little pale as the competitors continued to gather.

The sheer number of Narnian and Telmarine competitors milling around was enough to give even Peter, who had fought in a number of tournaments, a serious case of the jitters. He had no doubt that it would be worse for Edmund and Susan, who had never competed before. Peter smiled encouragingly at his siblings as he retook his seat as the call to the lists for the dual-sword event.

"What was I thinking? Edmund muttered as he backed away from the wall and gripped both of his swords, giving them a few practice swings to loosen his muscles, trying to force his body to relax so that he didn't strain or pull anything when it was his time to compete. "Would you _look_ at the size of some of those Telmarine competitors?" He pointed one of his swords at some of the others who were also warming up.

Peter turned in his seat and looked in the direction his brother was indicating, cocking his head to the side. "Since when have you been worried about the size of your opponents, Ed?" he asked lightly. "You took on Giants in Ettinsmoor, remember?"

A pensive look crossed the younger boy's face at that reminder, but out of Peter's line of sight, Helen's eyes narrowed at that announcement. She added a conversation about _Giants_ to her growing mental list of things her boys most definitely had to explain.

"Peter's right, Ed," Susan chimed in. "You've faced far more opponents over the years defending Narnia than many of these men have _ever_ faced. I'm sure you're going to do fine. I'm the one who is most likely to lose horribly."

Lucy groaned. "Would the two of you stop it?" she demanded. "With attitudes like that, you _will _lose!"

Peter nodded in agreement. "Do your best. That's all that any of us can do. And stop whining about it already!"

Lucy couldn't help herself. "Look whose talking!" she exclaimed lightly. "Don't make me regale Mum and Quentin with your pre-tournament jitters of the past…"

He scrunched up his nose, but was forced to laugh. "All right, all right," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Whine away."

All four siblings and Caspian began laughing as Quentin and Helen exchanged glances, feeling distinctly left out. The light moment ended as the trumpets announcing the start of the competition sounded and the competitors gathered to hear the announcement of the first match-up.

Edmund swallowed and turned to his family. "Wish me luck?"

"You don't need luck, Ed," his brother replied, but added: "All the same, good luck little brother. Knock their socks off."

The dark-haired King shook his head as the first two competitors took to the ring, their heralds singing their praises. "I'll knock something off, Peter," he countered, "but not likely their socks. Too hard to get to…"

Susan leaned in close to Helen and Quentin. "They all start joking when they're nervous," she said quietly. "It was the best way to hide any signs of worry from our subjects when we were ruling Narnia. It wouldn't do for them to become aware that their Kings and Queens were anything less than sure of themselves."

Helen nodded. Her heart was currently somewhere in the back of her throat, and she idly wondered where it would end up when Edmund actually stepped _into_ the ring. She had seen him fight on the training field, but judging from the full armor he was now wearing, she imagined what she was about to watch was going to be _very_ different.

************************************************************************

Edmund eyed his opponent, a Telmarine he was unfamiliar with, and idly wondered how good the man was as he rolled his shoulders as best he could in his armor and waited for the match to begin.

The young King could see his brother and sisters watching him eagerly from their seats, cheering him on as he had done so many times for Peter. Next to them were Caspian, Quentin, and Helen. All of them had a look of anticipation on their faces, although Helen's and Quentin's seemed tinged with nervousness. Edmund was in the third match-up. The previous two matches had been quick, but still showed a great deal of skill from the competitors.

To be honest, if anyone should have that look of uncertainty, it should be _him_. Truth be told, if it wasn't for the helm which covered his face, they might see a similar expression there. Yes, he had fought Giants and all matter of Fell Creatures in Narnia – but that was life or death. There was an energy associated with those kinds of fights that tournament bouts couldn't duplicate and which he was lacking right now.

As the herald, a Faun from the palace whom they had recruited to serve for the monarchs that day regaled the crowd with some of Edmund's attributes, he could see Telmarines and Narnians alike turning toward the dual-sword ring with interest, leaving their preparations for their own events behind as they gathered to watch.

_At least the plan is working_, he thought to himself. If the people were eagerly watching the Kings and Queens of Old in competition, they were less likely to wonder why Lady Miriam wasn't present at her fiancée's side.

But then the flag was raised and Edmund was forced to concentrate on his opponent. As the flag dropped, all of his attention shifted to the bout at hand.

It quickly became apparent that he needn't have worried. While his opponent was a good swordsman, the Telmarine was slower and slightly less coordinated than the young King. Soon, Edmund was scoring his first point, a strong strike to the man's chest, and a wild cheer was erupting from the crowd.

As was customary in sword competitions, there was no pause in the bout until all the points were scored, so Edmund didn't have time to look about and see his family's and friends' reactions. He didn't let up in his attack, and quickly scored a second point, before landing the winning blow seconds later. Pulling his helm off his head, he saluted his opponent before bowing in respect for the man's skill, before he turned to where his family was watching.

A broad smile had lit up Peter's face, along with a knowing one on Caspian's, while giddy expressions crossed his sisters' faces. Quentin was trying to be impassive and unreadable, but Edmund could tell that he was impressed.

Helen was green. Nearly as green as the dress she was wearing, as a matter of fact. Edmund cocked his head to the side as he headed over, wondering _why_. The match had gone well, he hadn't been scored against, and nothing had landed on his person. As he ducked out of the ring, the next two competitors stepped up to duel. He approached the royal box, intent on finding out why his mother looked like she was ready to lose her breakfast.

Peter frowned as he caught sight of Edmund's expression and followed his gaze, seeing the look on their mother's face, which caught the attention of the others. Peter rose from his seat and moved over to kneel in front of his mother, as Edmund stepped up to the diving wall in front of her.

"Mum?" Edmund asked, his voice a little breathy from the exercise, but by no means a pant as it would have been after a longer match. This bout had been and easy win for him, more like a warm-up than a real contest. He knew that wouldn't be the case as more competitors were beaten out during the next rounds. "You look a bit peaky," he observed. "Are you all right?"

"All right?" she repeated under her breath, shaking her head. "I…I suppose I'm all right. That man didn't hit you at all. But…I'll admit that my heart was in my throat the entire time. When you and Peter were fighting, I was worried that you would be hurt, but not as much as I am now."

Peter frowned. "Why more now? It's just in good fun…"

The woman nodded, but her face wasn't relaxed. "I know that," she replied before pointing out the competitors who were limbering up as they awaited their turn in the ring. "But for some of them, this is more than a competition. They have something to prove, and someone with an agenda like that can be reckless."

She had a point.

In the past, Peter had competed against men who had wanted to win so badly that they skirted the line between fair fighting and cheating. But he had never been hurt in those bouts, just hard-pressed to catch all the sneaky moves.

"Edmund will be all right," Lucy said soothingly. "Everyone knows he's a King. They aren't going to mess around with him. None of us would stand for it. I would be more worried about some of the other matches."

Helen had to admit that her daughter also had a valid point. It eased her mind a little when put that way. She finally relaxed and allowed a small smile to grace her face. "You're right," she told Lucy, patting the youngest Queen on the arm. "They all know who Edmund is, and it seems to have drawn a crowd."

Everyone's attention was turned towards the crowd swarming the dual-sword ring. Many were still glancing towards the Kings and Queens, even though none of them were doing anything more than standing there.

Edmund chuckled. "Just wait, Mum. The joust is the most prestigious event in any tournament. When Peter and the winner have their exhibition bout, people are going to cram into this area like sardines."

He avoided Peter's attempted swat and continued, "It's not everyday you get to see the High King in action. Though, Peter," he said to his brother, turning his attention away from his mother now that she seemed to have relaxed. "If you continue trying to swat me, they're going to see a side of you that I don't think you want to show."

Peter's eyes widened when he realized he was acting more like Peter Pevensie than High King Peter at the moment, teasing and smacking his brother like he had been doing. Shaking his head, he smiled wryly.

"Shut up, Ed," he whispered. "Get your butt back out there and win some more. Before you know it, it'll be down to you and the General again."

************************************************************************

Peter had been right.

The dual-sword contest came down to Edmund and General Glozelle in the end. From the beginning the match was a whirlwind of clanging blades and twisting and turning bodies.

Edmund had scored first on the general with a powerful slashing attack that, even at half-strength had blown through Glozelle's guard as if it wasn't even there. Of course, the general hadn't been about to let that stand and had quickly returned the favor with a series of feints that had Edmund leaping and tumbling all over the ring to stay out of the way of the shining steel before he landed a blow on Edmund's back while the younger King was trying to get back to his feet after a diving roll over the top of Glozelle's swords.

Edmund's second point had come with a sneaky attack where he feinted a front attack before dodging around the General, using his natural agility and smaller size to his advantage to return the "love-tap" to his opponent's back. Now, Edmund found himself hard-pressed to keep the upper hand as the match dragged on, each of them unable to score any more points on the other.

Blowing a harsh breath out of his mouth, Edmund disengaged and backed off for a moment, taking stock of what had transpired in the bout already. It was a tactic that Peter had used often when a match was running long, backing away and trying to determine what moves the other man liked to use and hoping to come up with a strategy that would lead to the bout-winning blow.

Glozelle looked as spent as Edmund felt as he circled, his two swords held steadily in a guarded position – prepared for the young King to launch and attack of some sort. Edmund didn't disappoint, as he drew on a technique that Oreius had taught him early in the beginning of their reign, after he and Peter had built up some muscle and stamina.

Moving forward suddenly, Edmund feinted a blow with his left-handed sword, moving to strike with the sword he gripped in his right – then, as Glozelle moved to catch the "real" attack, he forced himself to turn the right-handed motion into a second feint, throwing the power into his left-handed sword as he turned the feint into the real strike, making sure to step into the blow and follow through, as Oreius had pounded into his head. Oreius had taught him the move, cautioning him that it was a heavy strain on the muscles and should only be used in time of need.

_This is probably __**not**__ what Oreius would consider a time of need_, Edmund thought to himself, but given that the match was dragging on and his arms had no desire to continue the match against his _very_ skilled opponent, it was good enough for him.

Fortunately, Glozelle had not expected the feint to turn into the real attack and was a split-second too slow to bring his swords around to block the heavy blow to his chest. The heavy clang of sword on metal armor sounded and the crowd went wild.

Both of them backed away then and removed their helms before saluting and bowing to each other. The General was smiling, despite his loss, as he bowed as best as one could in full armor. "That was a remarkable technique," he remarked, winded. "I cannot imagine how your arms must feel from such rough treatment." He shook his head. "I'm not sure I could have forced my arms to do that."

Edmund shook his head. "I'm not so sure it was my brightest idea, General. My arms are not happy with me at the moment. You fought well, that move is something I only use in emergencies."

Glozelle nodded and sketched another half-bow. "I'm honored," he said with a small smile.

Edmund returned the bow before turning and heading back to where his family was waiting. They had all left the box and were waiting to embrace him. Quentin was hanging back, giving Edmund's family the first chance to congratulate him on a spectacular victory.

************************************************************************

_Archery field…a short time later…_

Susan had always had an uncanny ability to appear perfectly calm.

Even on the verge of battle, she could make enemies and allies alike think that she wasn't the least bit afraid or nervous. At the moment, she was employing all her talent in that regard as she stood in a line of archers waiting to compete, eyeing the targets that were stretched across the field.

Only her siblings has a chance of picking up the nervous tic in her jaw, and they were far enough away in the box that they wouldn't be able to see her reaction while she had her back to them.

Blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face, she eyed her target.

Despite having noticed a decline in her archery prowess since returning to Narnia, Susan was quite certain that she could hit the bulls-eye at this distance. The first round would be easy enough. It was the later rounds that worried her.

"Archers on their marks!" called out the Telmarine who was officiating this contest. The rules had been explained to Susan earlier and were quite simple. Archers could not move even a toe past their lines. At the sound of the horn, they would draw an arrow, notch it, and fire as fast as they could. Anyone who hit within two rings of the bulls-eye would advance to the next round. Anyone who didn't was out of the contest. After each round, the targets would be moved further and further back, and the accuracy would become more important.

Speed and accuracy were both needed to win.

Normally, she would be using the bow given to her by Father Christmas. But since accuracy _was_ a factor, and that bow would never miss if she believed in it, the Queen had agreed that it would be an unfair advantage here. Instead, she had borrowed a Telmarine long-bow from the armory.

Susan relaxed her right hand and arm, waiting for the horn. If she stayed tense, it would slow her down, because she would fumble reaching for the arrow. Breathing deeply, she only had to wait a moment longer before a horn blast shattered the air.

In a blur of motion, she pulled an arrow from her quiver, notched it, took aim, and fired. The red-fletched projectile slammed into the target, just off-center, but within the red of the bulls-eye.

A second later, the rest of the arrows thudded into the targets.

_Off to a good start,_ the Queen thought to herself, a little unhappy that the shot hadn't been dead-on. _Now if I can only keep it up…_

Susan knew the power of negative thinking – but knowing it did nothing to stop her from doing it. She had never had a problem making her thoughts known, but she had depended on her bow's magic for so long she worried her archery skill with this normal weapon might have suffered.

As the targets were checked, Susan chanced a glance towards the dais where her family was watching and saw Edmund give her a very obvious thumbs up. Peter just shook his head at his brother's antics, and Helen smiled broadly at her daughter. Quentin's look was impossible to decipher, but it almost appeared as if he was wistful.

Pushing the thought aside, she looked back at the line of her opponents and noticed a few trudging off the field. But there were still a lot to continue on. Setting her jaw, she waited for the next round to begin while the targets were moved back.

For the next few rounds, Susan continued to –for the most part – beat her opponents to the target, but her shots were getting less accurate as the targets were moved further and further away. Worry niggled in her mind that she wasn't going to last much longer.

But it lessened when she realized that the field of competitors had shrunk considerably.

It was down to just Trumpkin and herself.

She smiled lightly at the dwarf, who had moved next to her as the opponents between them were eliminated from the competition. He nodded back and she noticed that he appeared to be completely unaffected by worry. Either that or he was very good at hiding it, one or the other.

They waited a moment while the targets were moved back again.

From the viewing box, Helen shook her head. "I can't _believe_ she can hit that." she commented. "I'm surprised she can even _see_ it. I had no idea how good your sister actually was."

The siblings smiled – the brothers remembering all the times Susan's arrows had saved their lives and Lucy remembering the tenacity with which Susan had first picked up the bow after receiving it from Father Christmas and beginning to practice when they had decided to stay in Narnia.

Back on the field, Susan was thinking along similar lines to her mother. _I don't think I can hit that…it's just too far…_

But she wouldn't give up. So when the horn blew, she drew an arrow, notched it, and fired with just as much speed as earlier. Trumpkin's arrow sank into the target a split second after hers. As the target examiners hurried across the field, Susan just knew.

A moment later, her suspicions were confirmed – she was too far from the bulls-eye to continue.

Trumpkin had won.

The cheers were subdued. Uncertain. It was as if the Telmarines and Narnians were afraid to cheer for Trumpkin and dishonor Queen Susan. The young girl frowned deeply at that. Turning towards Trumpkin, she bowed and said loudly enough to be heard by the nearest spectators: "Lord Trumpkin, your skills are indeed a force to be reckoned with and I congratulate you on a most spectacular and well-deserved win."

The dwarf's cheeks tinted slightly, but he bowed quickly and hid it. "Thank you, your Majesty. No one else in the land could have given me such stiff competition, Queen Susan."

They turned and walked off the field together.

In the royal box, Peter and Edmund both had looks of astonishment on their faces. Lucy was blinking owlishly. Caspian was frowning, remembering the frightening accuracy of Queen Susan's arrows in battle.

Helen and Quentin were oblivious to anything out of the ordinary, and as Susan and Trumpkin reached them, the former smiled brilliantly and congratulated both of them warmly. Quentin looked at Susan with admiration. "I'm amazed. I would _never_ have been able to hit targets that fast at those distances."

Trumpkin accepted congratulations from Caspian before leaving Susan to her family. Susan turned away from Quentin and her siblings and Caspian quickly wiped the incredulous expressions off of their faces and plastered on smiles. There were mutters of "Congratulations" and "Well-done, Su", but Susan could tell they were surprised by her loss – especially Peter, Edmund, and Lucy.

Truth be told, it didn't really bother her, not taking first place. She'd done her best and that was all that mattered. In a low voice, she told her siblings and Caspian: "Don't look so surprised – the bow from Father Christmas _couldn't_ miss if I believed in it. This was a better showing of my skills. I'm not upset."

Caspian smiled gently. "Nor should you be, Queen Susan. That was some fine archery." There were nods of agreement from her brothers and sister, but they appeared to be oddly tongue-tied.

Peter was usually the first to support one of them, but perhaps he was just nervous about the single-sword competition coming up next. _Speaking of the sword event_, Susan blurted, "Peter, you'd best get armored up, or you'll be late!"

The High King's eyes widened.

Then he and Edmund bid hasty farewells and hurried off to get Peter ready.

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_Single-sword ring…later…_

There was an air of excitement around the single-sword ring as the competitors – far fewer than in the dual-sword event, since most of the Telmarines favored the dual blades – gathered at ring-side, geared up in full, shining armor.

Edmund adjusted and then readjusted one of Peter's shoulder guards.

As he worked, his hands knowing automatically what to do from years of practice, the young King's mind flashed to the last time he had seen his brother dressed like this – when he'd emerged from the How to duel Miraz.

_This at least, isn't to the death_, he reminded himself, tugging harshly on the leather strap to tighten it and drawing a grunt and "_Edmund_," from his brother. With a frown, he stepped around his brother and held him at arm's length. For a moment, he said nothing, just took in the armor and the red tunic the brothers had always worn, with the image of the golden lion leaping from the rich fabric. Turning his attention back to Peter's face, he finally spoke.

"Try not to trounce them _too_ soundly, Peter."

His brother smiled crookedly and shoved a lock of hair out of his face. "Right," he said. "I don't think that'll be a problem, Edmund." Gazing out at the field of competitors himself, he sighed. "I'll be lucky if I win."

Edmund shook his head incredulously. "Peter, where is your faith? You've only lost once before, remember? What makes you think you'll lose today?" His thoughts flitted to earlier that morning and his eyes narrowed. "Are you sick?"

He made to reach forward, but Peter backpedaled quickly.

"I'm fine, Edmund," he said. "I'd better get moving, the competition is about to start."

Turning on his heel, the blonde King moved off to the edge of the field that had been roped off again now that the archery event was over. The Telmarines favored using the same field for everything, so the ring would be removed again for the joust after this event was over.

The first pair of opponents were in and out of the ring in no time, one being far superior to the other. Peter knew immediately that the winner of that round would be a challenge, even for himself. He fully expected, just from what he had seen that this man would make it to the final round.

Peter just wondered if he would be the other one to do so.

The herald stepped forward to announce the next match. "Opposite the Faun Pontas will be High King Peter –". He was cut off by the explosion of cheering that erupted from the excited audience. Glancing over at Caspian, he saw the King indicating that he should leave it at that, since there was no way that the crowd would settled down enough for the introductions to finish.

As Peter stepped into the ring, Caspian focused his attention on his fellow monarch, feeling the anticipation from the other Pevensies, and the thrill of apprehension from their mother as she stiffened in her seat.

As Peter and the Faun clashed for the first time in a flurry of blows and counters, taking some on their shields, some on their swords, and dodging the rest, Caspian leaned over King Edmund and spoke to the woman.

"These fights are far safer than battles, my Lady. They are all in good fun. I'm quite sure that King Peter will be fine," he reassured her.

Edmund jerked his head to the side, sheepish that he hadn't noticed his mother's distress. He had been too busy thinking about watching Peter fight another – all the while thinking of a taller and more lethal opponent. The dark-haired boy let out a breath and unclenched his hands.

In the next moment, his worry for Peter turned into shock as his mother's hand closed on his and squeezed tightly, drawing his attention from the fight towards her face. She wasn't looking at Peter, which in and of itself was amazing. She was instead focusing worriedly on Edmund.

"Are you all right, dear?" she asked softly, giving his hand another small squeeze.

Edmund gulped. "Fine, just fine." His voice squeaked – actually _squeaked_. He sounded like one of the Talking Mice when their tails were accidentally stepped on. "Just thinking. No problem." He shifted his gaze back to Peter pointedly, but Helen didn't look away and Edmund ended up facing her again as the sound of clashing metal continued.

"You're thinking of that duel," she said suddenly. "The one from the last time you were here."

For a moment, Edmund thought to deny it. But it was never good to lie to Helen Pevensie. So he nodded and sighed. "I can't help it, but honestly, I'm fine, Mum," he reassured her.

A huge cheer suddenly erupted from the crowd and Helen and Edmund both turned to see what had happened. Edmund smiled when he saw that Peter had won the bout.

He hadn't doubted that would be the case.

Helen watched Peter leave the ring and stand to wait for the next match.

And so the event progressed until it came down to the final round and the only competitors – Peter and the man from the first round, a Telmarine soldier named Sarask.

************************************************************************

_Don't hurl, don't hurl, don't hurl…_

Peter chanted the mantra to himself as he stepped into the ring for the final bout, facing the man who appeared to be made of steel, not just wielding it. The sun was punishing hot, and it was seriously affecting him. He had been nauseous since the second round, and dizzy since the one right before this.

As he faced his opponent, he could only hope that he didn't get beaten too soundly.

At the signal, Sarask lunged forward, giving Peter only a split second to decide on a block, parry, or dodge. The High King chose the former, raising his shield and taking the heavy blow.

The power of the blow sent tremors all down Peter's arm and he grimaced. Thankfully, his helm would prevent anyone from seeing it. Wanting to get this match over with as soon as possible, Peter attacked in a flurry of fast, sure strikes, forcing the bile down when his stomach threatened to expel it.

Peter could hear the cheer of the crowd when he scored his first point against his opponent's chest armor, though it sounded distant and detached, as if he was hearing it from underwater. Sarask didn't take it well, however, and came at Peter with renewed vigor.

It was all the blonde could do to ward off the attacks that were coming at him from all directions, and before he could prevent it, a heavy sword strike smashed into his chest and drove him backward. For a moment, Sarask disappeared and Peter could swear he saw a different face in the helm in front of him – sneering at him, the eyes taunting and murderous.

As he staggered backward, Peter gasped in shock.

_It's not Miraz_, he told himself. _Get a hold of yourself, Pevensie!_

Another strike nearly hit his chest, but Peter turned just in time to avoid the blow and brought Rhindon down on the other man's back although the blow was too glancing to count as a successful point. The crowd went wild as the two contestants broke apart and began circling each other.

Peter was panting heavily, which was unusual for the seasoned fighter. Even though he no longer possessed his adult strength and stamina, he had fought for longer than this without becoming so weary and short of breath.

The young King peered through the slit in his visor and into the slit in the visor in front of him and saw black eyes staring back. He blinked and they shifted –Sarask had blue eyes. Shaking his head, he raised Rhindon higher and with a heavy grunt, moved in to strike at his opponent.

The attack was thwarted and Peter was thrown off balance for a moment – just long enough for Sarask to score another point, this time smashing his blade strongly into Peter's side.

Grunting, Peter backed away quickly and regrouped. It would take two more points for him to win the match, while Sarask only needed one. The Telmarine was a tough competitor…scoring those points wouldn't be easy.

And Peter's strength was waning fast.

Shaking his head again, Peter raised his sword and shield and prepared for the next attack. He wouldn't attack again unless the opening was solid and clear. He was far too dizzy.

_Maybe this wasn't such a good idea,_ he thought as another wave of dizziness tore through him and he resisted the urge to bend over and close his eyes against the feeling. _I shouldn't have competed._

But what was done was done and when Sarask attacked again, Peter parried and came in with an attack of his own. He was lucky – very much so – when Rhindon slammed into the man's chest again and sent him staggering backward, an armored hand raised to his breastplate in a futile attempt to ward off the sting of the blow.

Both combatants took a moment to regroup, tied at two points each.

Peter took a deep breath and relaxed into his stance. Instead of tensing up and attacking to end the bout quickly, he remembered Oreius' lessons. He could hear the proud Centaur's voice in his head._ "Remain relaxed and let your opponent make the move if you're fatigued. Attacking when you're tired makes you clumsy."_

And it proved true when Sarask grew tired of waiting for the High King to make a move and lunged forward himself.

For a moment, Peter was somewhere else.

_**Stone beneath his feet. Narnians behind him, Telmarines ahead of him across the field. The sun high overhead and blazing down on the two of them. No helmets, two rulers – one appointed by Aslan's grace and the other an usurping traitor - staring each other in the eyes.**_

Then the moment was over and Miraz's face was replaced by Sarask's helmed head, careening towards him in slow motion. Peter raised his shield and the other man's sword glanced off of it as the High King pivoted and rushed forward, past Sarask's side. As he did, he thrust with Rhindon and felt the sure impact of the blade on the Telmarine's torso.

If the cheering had been wild before, it was insane now.

Peter didn't hear it.

He fought the weakness in his knees, but had no choice but to sink to a seated position on the nearest bench. Edmund was at his side in seconds, having vaulted the dividing wall between the ring and the royal box. The younger King's hands fumbled with the straps of Peter's helm before he yanked it off and discarded it, kneeling in front of his brother.

"Peter? Pete? Are you all right?"

The blonde King nodded, the motion sending droplets of sweat streaming from his hair in every direction. "Fine…fine…" he panted. "Hard fight. Lord Sarask is a worthy opponent."

The man, hearing the praise, bowed awkwardly. "Your legendary skills have shown brilliantly today, High King Peter," the man replied breathlessly. "It was an honor to have the chance to compete with you, Sire. I only hope I did you no harm."

Peter shook his head. "No," he said haltingly, still trying to catch his own breath. "You did no harm."

Then he was surrounded by Caspian, Susan, Lucy, Quentin, and Helen. His mother knelt in front of him as Edmund began stripping some of his brother's armor off, recruiting Quentin to help him. The relief from the armor being removed eased his harsh breathing some.

"Peter?" Helen asked worriedly. "Are you injured?"

Peter shook his head and stood up. He drew every last reserve of strength to the forefront and spoke strongly. "I'm all right, please." He pushed all the concerned hands away from him. "The match was a good one and I am winded. I need a moment's respite and I will be fine. The heat has not helped matters." Stepping out of his circle of concerned mother-hens, he faced Sarask and offered him the traditional bow and salute for a good match.

Inwardly, however, Peter knew his words to his family to be false.

He had no idea how he was going to make it through the exhibition joust.

**_Don't forget to review! *pleading look*_**


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's Note: I have no real good excuse for the LONG wait between the last chapter and this one -- I'm sorry for those who have been hanging in there since May. I hope the rest will come a little quicker. Maybe I should pop in my movies and get re-energized?_

_**Chapter Eleven:**_

_Tournament Grounds…_

Caspian wasn't moving.

He was just standing there, arms hanging at his sides, eyes riveted on the two riders barreling towards each other at breakneck speed. To a casual onlooker, the young King appeared to be unaffected by the scene.

But in actuality, he was so nervous his legs felt like lead and he wasn't sure he could lift them if he tried. _At least I'm not wearing a hole in the grass like Peter did_, he thought to himself, a small smile cracking at the edges of his mouth as he remembered the tale the brother kings had told of the High King's first competitive joust.

Glancing to his right, he saw Glenstorm and Edmund talking in low tones. The two had been trying to guess who was going to win each match before the competitors finished. So far, Edmund had always been right.

_I wonder if he thinks I am going to win my first round_? Caspian wondered.

He might have asked, but as it was, the current match ended in a stunning blow that sent a Telmarine lord crashing to the ground. The crowd gasped for the fallen man and cheered for the victorious one.

And Caspian knew he was up next.

Peter suddenly appeared beside him, most unexpectedly, since the last time Caspian had looked, the High King had been seated in the royal box with his mother, sisters, and friend. He frowned at Peter in confusion, and the other King chuckled weakly. "You looked like you could use a little more help," he offered. "I'm guessing that if you move, you're going to fall."

Caspian's eyes widened. "How did you know? I didn't think it was that obvious."

"It isn't," Peter assured him, "but…" here he lowered his voice, "I deal with nerves by pacing. So does Edmund. But Susan…she finds herself practically frozen to the spot. You look like she does. Just with shorter hair. And you're not wearing a dress or carrying a bow."

The other young man burst into laughter at the ridiculous comparison, and Peter knew he had accomplished what he had set out to do. Reaching forward, he held the reins of Destrier so Caspian could mount. The stallion was already fitted with armor to protect him, and as Caspian settled in the saddle and took the reins from Peter, Glenstorm approached, holding a lance, while a herald shushed the crowd.

Gesturing towards Caspian's end of the field, the herald called out, "Presenting, His Majesty, who rallied and united the Narnians and the Telmarines and ushered in an era of peace – King Caspian the Tenth!"

He shifted and now pointed in the opposite direction. "Presenting, Lord Habise of the Lantern Waste!"

By the time the herald was finished speaking, Caspian was settled and was making sure his grip on the lance was firm and his lightweight shield was adjusted properly on his arm. He could see his opponent on the other side doing the same thing.

He idly wondered if the man was nervous - he was about to joust a King after all.

Would he win because all of his opponents were too nervous to give their best against him? Looking down at Peter as he raised his arm to lower the visor of his helm, he beat back the thought. It had been obvious from King Peter's competition in the sword ring that being royal didn't make the bouts any easier.

As the Faun bearing the starting flag walked towards the fence that separated the running lanes of the two jousters, Peter and the others backed away and Caspian was very much alone atop Destrier, awaiting the flag's fall.

When it finally came, Caspian narrowed his eyes and kicked Destrier forward, tightening his grip on his lance. They pelted down the field towards their opponent, who was doing the same thing. Precisely as he had been taught, the young King clenched tightly with his legs to maintain his balance in preparation for a blow as he angled his lance and held his shield.

As they drew abreast of each other, Caspian moved his lance into position and was rewarded with a strong backward jolt when the blunt, hollow tip slammed into the other rider and broke upon his shield.

Nothing touched Caspian.

The crowd went wild and Caspian gently slowed and turned Destrier. He saw Lord Habise was still atop his horse, holding an intact lance. Riding back down the field, he saw a smiling Peter and Edmund and an impressed Glenstorm.

As the Centaur handed Caspian his next lance, he nodded lightly to him. "You are quite skilled, Your Majesty. I should think you have a good chance of winning this event."

The young King's eyes shifted to Peter for a moment, although his fellow King probably couldn't tell because Caspian's visor was still down. He wasn't so sure he wanted to ride against Peter in the exhibition joust, but he was a little curious to find out just how good the High King was, and to find out if his relatively beginner skills were good enough to best the legendary skills of the other King.

He was about to turn his horse back around and take position for the next run, when, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Peter waver unsteadily on his feet. A bead of sweat chose that moment to drip into his eyes, however, and by the time he blinked it clear, Peter looked fine.

_Must have been my imagination and the heat_, he thought, continuing to turn and settling himself in preparation for the next run.

The bouts to follow went much the same way, with Caspian taking few hits compared to the number that he was landing successfully against his opponents, as he advanced quickly through the ranks until it came down to himself against his trusted advisor Lord Proctmar.

The Telmarine lord was a force to be reckoned with, having unseated two of his opponents over the course of the event. Caspian felt the jitters returning as he prepared to ride against the man.

He was surprised when he felt a tug on his leg from Edmund, who had remained at his side with Glenstorm, while Peter had returned to the royal box and taken a seat next to Susan.

"Lord Proctmar leans back slightly just before coming in range of his opponent," the younger man said quietly. "If you put on a burst of speed just as he does it and hit him, it might knock him from the horse before he has a chance to recover."

Caspian had noticed something off about Proctmar's technique, having watched the other matches closely to study his potential opponents, but it hadn't dawned on him what it was. He was surprised he hadn't seen something like that. "How did you notice that?" he asked, his voice muffled by his helmet.

Edmund chuckled. "I've watched enough jousts to know what to look for," he said. "I never learned to joust, that was Peter's thing, mostly because I was so much smaller than him when we first became Kings. By the time I was large enough to stand a chance, my sword work was much better than any of my other skills, and I wasn't interested in trying to learn how to joust at that point. Lord Proctmar isn't the first person I've seen do that. It's almost like they're taking a deep breath and it throws them off balance for a moment."

Nodding, Caspian turned back to the field.

At the drop of the flag, Caspian and Destrier shot forward and the young King tried to see the moment when Proctmar leaned back. Unfortunately, he was so intent on catching it that he missed it – and the blow that nearly took him off the horse.

His own lance was unmarred.

Caspian didn't pay it much mind, he was too busy gasping and trying to steady himself on Destrier's back. Shaking his head, he turned Destrier back towards his side of the field and carefully shifted each part of his body in turn to make sure they all worked.

Edmund was frowning at him.

"You concentrated so hard on looking for the weakness, you got hit."

Caspian shrugged. "I'll know when he does it next time," he said, his voice still a bit breathless from the hit he had taken. "Might not have been my brightest moment. I think I'll need to be cut out of this armor after the event though."

Glenstorm smiled and shook his head, checking to make sure the armor was still adequate to continue jousting. When he was satisfied, he handed Caspian another lance.

As Caspian prepared to ride again, Edmund spoke up from behind him. "Try not to do that again."

Smiling lightly, the older King shook his head and when the flag fell again, set off down the field. This time, when the opening came, he nudged Destrier and the horse jolted forward in a sudden increase in speed – just enough for Caspian to thrust his lance home and hit Proctmar before he was able to resettle in the saddle.

The roar of the crowd told Caspian that he had unseated the Telmarine Lord.

And the volume of it told him that the audience probably already realized that the Telmarine King would challenge the legendary High King of the Golden Age in the exhibition bout after the break.

************************************************************************

_Royal Tent on the Tournament Grounds…_

Peter felt like he was drowning. Sweat was pouring off of him in torrents, and he was beginning to wonder if it was more than simple heat that was ailing him. Ever since waking up that morning he had felt off and the queasiness in his stomach hadn't abated all that much. _It can't be nerves_, he thought to himself as he sipped from a goblet filled with cold water. _I'm not nervous anymore. It has to be something else._

He gazed about the tent at his sisters, Quentin, and Helen – all of whom were hovering around Caspian and going on and on about his jousting matches. Or rather, Susan and Lucy were going on and on about them. Quentin and Helen were listening politely, but seemed to be more like fish out of water than participants in the conversation.

Edmund was chatting with General Glozelle, going over the fine points of the various techniques they had used during their final round duel.

Sighing, Peter leaned back against a tent post and closed his eyes.

"Peter?"

Peeking open an eye, he saw the silhouette of his youngest sister. "Lu," he said.

The youngest Queen frowned at the sight of her brother's sweaty face and neck. "Are you all right Peter? I don't remember you getting quite so hot and wet during previous tournaments."

Peter bobbed his head up and down. "M'fine, Lu," he said. "But I'd appreciate it if you could either turn off the sun so I can open my eyes – or turn off the sun so I can stop sweating a bit. It's dreadfully hot out here, and far too bright."

Lucy looked out from under the tent and frowned a bit. It wasn't really all that much hotter today than it had been any other autumn day in Narnia. But then again, she wasn't wearing armor or chainmail, or the heavy tunics and trews that were necessary for padding under said armor. And she hadn't already been fighting in competition today.

_Nor will I ever,_ she grumbled to herself. _Even if I do learn the staff, I'm never going to get to fight in tournaments like this. There isn't a competition for staff fighters. No matter what I do to become an equal to my brothers and sister, I'm always lagging behind them somehow._

She shook her head, glanced once more at Peter, and then sighed. "If you insist that you're all right, Mum wants to talk to you. You might want to go and rescue Quen too, because he looks pretty uncertain and I'm not sure why, exactly."

Peter cracked his other eye open and glanced over at Quentin.

The other boy did appear to be disturbed by something. What that something was, Peter couldn't tell either. Deciding that between Quentin and his mother, his friend would be the easier to deal with, the blonde King thanked his sister and lurched away from the tent post with a grumble.

Unsteady for just a moment, he moved across the tent and placed himself just behind Quentin's right shoulder. The dark-haired boy didn't appear to notice that Peter had joined him and said nothing, so Peter leaned in and spoke quietly. "What's bothering you?"

Quentin jumped and turned around, a glare on his face. "Don't do that," he said, unsuccessfully trying to hide a small smile. "Nothing's bothering me. I'm just thinking. That's allowed here, right?"

With a small nod, Peter moved to stand alongside Quentin so he could look his friend in the face. "It's allowed," he replied. "But, I'm not buying that nothing's wrong," he continued gently. "You're my best friend, and have been long enough that I can recognize when something isn't right. Is it something I can help with?"

For a moment, it looked like Quentin wouldn't answer. Then he blew out a breath and turned his attention to the tournament field where the ground was being repaired from the galloping horses and the riders that had gone crashing to the earth during the jousts. The field had to be cleared for the exhibition joust.

"It's silly," the young man finally said, "but the whole time I've been watching the tournament today I've been wondering something. You told me there's a reason a person comes to Narnia – that everyone has a purpose." He paused and Peter nodded, remembering when he had told his mother and Quentin that upon their arrival. "But I have yet to figure out what my reason is and it's sort of disturbing, you know? Being in the dark, I mean? I just want to know what's expected of me or what I'm supposed to do."

He turned back to Peter. "I'm not a warrior, that much is clear. So far, I haven't proved to be too shabby with strategy, but I don't think that's why I'm here. So what else is there?" He frowned. "It's not really something you can help me with, but you asked what was bothering me."

Peter only laughed softly, surprising Quentin. Not knowing what one was expected to do in Narnia was not an entirely foreign feeling. When the siblings had found themselves in Narnia for the second time, they had been completely clueless about why they were there too – until they had met Caspian.

"Don't worry about it, Quentin," Peter advised him quietly. "Learning what your purpose is will come in it's own time. The first time we came to Narnia, we had no idea what we were supposed to do until we met Mr. Beaver and were told that we were the prophesied saviors of Narnia and were expected to become her Kings and Queens. Even after we heard that, it took us a long time to believe it and accept it. When we finally did, it just felt _right_. The second time we came here, we were equally lost as to what was expected of us until we met Caspian and were told about the Telmarine invasion. We were still Kings and Queens, but all that was left of our reign were stories and legends. The Narnia we remembered had been almost completely lost."

He reached out and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Until you do find out what your purpose is here, just relax and try to enjoy being here. Narnia is beautiful, and while there is currently trouble here, it's nothing like the war in England."

Quentin looked at his friend and nodded before focusing his gaze back on the field as he watched them finishing the preparations for the exhibition joust.

Peter backed away, turning until he saw Helen standing in the corner talking quietly with Lucy. When she saw him, she beckoned for him to join her. He sighed as he noticed that she was standing in a sunny spot. The sides of the tent had been rolled up, making it really only a canopy over their heads, not a full tent with sides to afford privacy. With the sun moving through the sky, the light was coming down at an angle. Within an hour, it would be shining right through the tent, instead of just brushing the edges as it was doing now. He grumbled to himself as he stepped over to her. Couldn't she have picked a shady spot?

He walked over to join her and Lucy smiled and left the two of them alone, wandering over to speak to Edmund and Susan.

"Peter," Helen said, concern in her voice. "You look hot."

The glare he turned on her could have melted metal. "I am decked out in all this armor, Mum," he replied, a note of sarcasm in his voice. She turned her own glare on and he melted. "Sorry, Mum," he muttered. "Weather's getting to me, I guess. But yes, I am hot."

Helen's gaze softened. "I'm sorry too," she said. "I just wanted to begin the conversation on a light note. It backfired on me." She studied him for a moment, and noted his pallor and the sweat still pouring off of him. She hadn't noticed it on Edmund or Caspian, but everyone was different, she supposed.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Peter asked, squinting at the light around him. "Lu said you wanted to see me."

She had. A million questions were racing through her mind. Did any of the blows he had taken during his sword competition hurt? Did he feel alright? Was he sure he wanted to go through with this joust, riding full speed at a horse towards someone – carrying big sticks that looked fully capable of snapping a man in two?

Instead of voicing any of those thoughts, she nodded. "I just wanted to see if you were all right, dear. Are you sure you want to go through with this next bit? You look a little peaky…I don't want you to get hurt, Peter."

He frowned slightly. "It's just one joust," he assured her. "I'll be all right."

She didn't press any further. She had promised Peter that she wouldn't fight him on the way things were in Narnia. And, loathe though she was to admit it, Peter was pretty grown up. He'd fought in more than one war, which she was still trying to wrap her mind around, and he had been a King of Narnia for fifteen years while watching out for his siblings.

No, he knew his limits.

She would respect that.

************************************************************************

Caspian shifted in his saddle, peering across the field to where Peter was mounted on Realeza as the High King reached down to accept the lance that his brother was holding up for him to grab. The dark-haired King looked to his right, where General Glozelle was holding a lance aloft.

"Thank you," he said quietly, taking it and then focusing his attention once more on Peter at the opposite end of the jousting course. Just before they had parted to prepare for the exhibition match, Peter had seemed off to Caspian. Normally, the High King was cracking a joke to lighten the mood – but today he had merely wished Caspian good luck was walked off.

The crowd was milling noisily around the field, but the atmosphere in the royal box was decidedly different, when Caspian glanced over at his friends. There was a calm expression on the faces of the two Narnian Queens, who knew their brother could joust, even if it had been some time since he last had. Quentin's face, which during the earlier jousts had been watching with an expression of awe, was now showing a hint of worry for his friend, since he _didn't_ know how good Peter was.

And Helen.

She was making no secret of her concern and her worry for her son. It was written openly on her face – Caspian could see it even from where he was sitting on Destrier. He hoped that she would be all right while she watched this bout.

************************************************************************

Helen watched her eldest son closely as he mounted the white mare that he would be riding for this event. She was no expert, but Caspian's huge black stallion seemed to dwarf Peter's mount. She looked over at Susan. "Is that fair? Peter's horse is so much smaller…"

Susan patted her mother's hand reassuringly. "It doesn't matter. Realeza's strong enough for this event, and being smaller is actually an advantage. She'll be able to start running at full speed more quickly, which will give Peter a chance to catch Caspian off balance. She's not that much smaller, it just appears that way from a distance. She carried Peter the last time we were here. He has a good rapport with her."

Helen nodded and settled back into her seat, trying to relax now that she had Susan's assurances that Peter wasn't at a disadvantage with the horse he was riding. She wished someone had tied her into her seat, however, because her body was telling her to get up and stop Peter before he got himself killed. Sure, he was wearing full armor, and both he and Caspian had said this was just for fun. But her son was still about to go galloping across the field towards a man armed with only a stout piece of wood. It was just screaming for an injury waiting to happen, even though no one else had been injured that day, despite how many people had been knocked off their horses.

But there was nothing she could do, despite her motherly intuition. So she held her tongue and her place as a Faun stepped up on a small raised platform that had been set just off to the side of the jousting field.

The Faun raised a hand and the crowd quieted.

"Lords and Ladies, Telmarines and Narnians alike, as the winner of the jousting competition, Caspian the Tenth, King of a united Narnia he helped usher into existence, has earned the right and privilege to challenge one who was rarely defeated in the jousting events of many a Narnian tournament during the Golden Age. Known by many titles, including Emperor of the Lone Islands, Duke of Galma and the Seven Isles, Guardian of the Northern Marches, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion – I present to you, High King Peter the Magnificent!"

A roar of cheers from the crowd filled the air as the Faun finished the introductions and Peter acknowledged them by raising his hand, but did nothing more. Caspian listened while the herald explained the rules of the joust again, - in case anyone hadn't heard them from the previous matches – and then stepped aside to grab the starting flag.

Moving towards the center of the field and stopping by the rail that separated the two lanes, the Faun raised the flag and then looked at Caspian and Peter to ascertain that they were ready with visors down and lances in hand. When he saw that they were, he deftly swung the flag down and ran for the safety of the sidelines.

Caspian nudged Destrier forward as Peter did the same with Realeza. Both horses surged forward immediately, and Caspian put all thoughts aside besides getting his lance into the proper position and preparing to hold on if he was hit by Peter's weapon.

He wasn't a moment too soon, because he was almost immediately jolted back by the sudden, strong, _solid_ impact of Peter's lance against his shield and was hard-pressed to hold his seat. He felt no pressure against his own lance and knew that he hadn't hit Peter. He tightened his legs around Destrier and managed to hang on, his fingers tangled in the reins and the stallion's mane.

Shaking his head, he craned his head to the left and to the right and rolled his shoulders to make sure everything was still working properly. Peter had hit him _hard_. Apparently, the High King was just as good as the legends of his skills claimed, despite the fact that he hadn't jousted in some time. As he reached the end of the rail, he turned Destrier and headed back up the lane to his own side.

As he passed Peter, he nodded in respect for the other King's skill, and Peter returned the gesture. Caspian didn't notice how the other King was slouched in the saddle, however. If he had, he wouldn't have made the next run.

************************************************************************

Peter was immensely grateful as he walked Realeza back across the field that Caspian hadn't made contact on the first run, because he knew he would probably have toppled right off the mare's back.

_Something is wrong with me, _he thought to himself, finally willing to admit it after an entire day of feeling ill. But he wasn't willing concede defeat and was bound and determined to finish this exhibition. _I only need to manage a few more rides and then I can be sick. Just a little longer, Peter, just a little longer._

He could see pride shining in Edmund's eyes as he reached down to take the lance proffered by his brother. The younger boy patted Peter's leg. "Good show, Peter! Just like old times! No one would know that you hadn't jousted in ages!"

_If I fall off this horse, it'll be blatantly obvious, Ed, _Peter grumbled to himself. Hefting the lance, he turned Realeza back around and faced the field once more. His vision swam momentarily and he shook his head to clear it. _Just a little longer, damn it!_

At the drop of the flag, Peter tapped Realeza forward and settled into place, steadying the lance in prime striking position. In the few seconds it took to reach Caspian, his vision swam again and Peter had to blink hard to regain his sight.

The sharp blow of Caspian's lance slammed into his shield and he gasped, holding hard to his own lance which shuddered and cracked splendidly against the Telmarine King's shield.

Both of them had scored, but Peter was still one point up.

For now.

The blow had knocked the wind out of him, and Peter struggled to draw in a breath as he turned Realeza around again. He dropped the broken lance, knowing that someone would clean it up, and had to force himself not to press a hand against his chest. It wasn't like it would do any good, after all.

Caspian nodded once again as they passed, and Peter returned the gesture, sending his head spinning again. He was growing more and more dizzy as the seconds passed, and he was beginning to wonder if he would be able to last for another run or two.

_Maybe I should just let Caspian knock me off the horse_, he thought idly as Edmund frowned and handed him another lance. He was torn from his thoughts when the younger boy asked how he was after the blow he had taken. Peter didn't trust his voice if he had to explain in detail, so he grunted, "Fine," waving Edmund off.

Truth be told, he wasn't fine. As he faced Caspian once again, he couldn't clear his vision no matter how many times he blinked. Blackness had begun nipping at the edges of his vision and no amount of head shaking could disperse it.

As the flag fell again, Peter swallowed.

Caspian's horse shot forward and Peter was only a moment behind. But as he moved swiftly down the field, the High King felt an intense wave of dizziness and actually had to shut his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them again, he saw – not Caspian and Destrier – but a Giant like the ones he'd battled in Ettinsmoor all those years ago barreling down the field toward him with it's club raised and a malevolent sneer on it's ugly face.

Peter jerked in surprise, his lance tip falling out of the striking position, and Realeza, uncertain what the sudden tug on her reins meant, checked herself and bucked with her hind legs just as Caspian – who hadn't had a chance to pull aside his lance – reached the blonde King.

With a titanic crash, Caspian's lance missed Peter's shield entirely – which wasn't difficult since Peter hadn't been holding it properly anyway – and instead clipped him in the side with stunning force. The blow, combined with the buck that Realeza threw at the same instant, rocked Peter backwards and sent him into a slow fall towards Realeza's flanks. His fingers fumbled for the reins and missed as he went backward off Realeza's back, somersaulting over the mare's tail and skidding along the rail for a second before heading for the trampled dirt.

Peter felt the blow, but he had no idea it was a lance and not a Giant's club that had hit him with such incredible strength as he fell back and felt himself falling before bouncing off something hard and crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs and armor. Stunned, he didn't move and remained oblivious as the crowd gasped and Caspian pulled Destrier to an abrupt halt, vaulting from the stallion's back and calling Peter's name as he raced back to the fallen King, yanking off his own helm and tossing it aside.

Through a fog of pain and dizziness, the High King could just make out Caspian's white face as the other man tugged his helm off. The Telmarine's lips were moving, but Peter couldn't make out what he was saying, his ears filled with an odd rushing, as if he was underwater. The pain in his side was fierce and he muttered, "Forgot how bad clubs can hurt."

************************************************************************

Caspian frowned down at the other King as Edmund crashed to his knees beside them, having begun sprinting across the field as soon as he realized his brother was in trouble. "Peter!" the young brunette called, tapping Peter gently on the cheek and catching the blonde's sluggish attention. "Pete, are you all right? What happened? You pulled back suddenly…"

The youngest King heard scuffling behind him and craned his neck around. The others were rushing towards the from the royal box and the crowd was standing and shifting about, anxiously trying to see what had happened and if the High King was all right. His attention was brought back to his brother as Peter began mumbling.

"Giants, Ed," the High King slurred. "Really don' like 'em."

Edmund cocked his head to the side, concern flashing through him. "Giants?" he asked, confused. "Peter, there aren't any Giants here." A suspicion flared through him as he took a look at the sweat still pouring off his brother's face and he pressed the back of his hand to Peter's forehead.

A spike of alarm rushed through him. The oldest Pevensie sibling was burning up.

"He's feverish," Edmund said as Helen, Lucy, Susan, and Quentin reached them, the former immediately reaching out to feel for herself. She gasped at the heat that he was giving off. Edmund looked to Susan and Lucy. "He's talking nonsense about Giants."

Susan's eyes widened, although her tone was calm when she spoke, although she obviously kept it that way with an effort. "What do we do? Did that blow hurt him?"

Edmund leaned down and caught his brother's wandering gaze. "Peter, did you get injured by the lance? It looked like it hit you pretty hard. I don't think it hit your shield at all."

But Peter kept muttering about Giants and seemed to become more delirious as the moments passed. Lucy looked up and noticed the crowd staring fearfully at the group of royals kneeling in the center of the field. "Let's get him inside," she said softly. "We have an audience."

The others nodded in agreement and Caspian signaled for help. General Glozelle came over bearing a litter and together they got Peter onto it, the heavy weight of his armor not making it any easier, since they were also worried about jarring any injuries that the High King might have sustained. Once the High King was securely on the litter, Edmund and Caspian stood back and allowed the General and Quentin to pick up the litter and carry it off the field to the tent they had used during the break between the main joust event and the exhibition.

Edmund gripped Caspian's arm and slowed him down, letting the others get ahead of them. "It's not your fault," the younger King said softly, sensing the older King's guilt. His posture and face were all but screaming that he felt responsible for what had happened to Peter. "Something spooked Peter, which is really unusual, but you had no way of knowing and no way of pulling that blow."

Caspian looked sideways at Edmund. "I know it," he said with a small sigh, "but it does not ease the pain of knowing King Peter may have been badly hurt by my blow."

The younger boy nodded. "No, but just don't go blaming yourself. Peter knew the risks when he agreed to this. If it had been anyone else out there with him, it would have turned out the same way." He quickened his pace, Caspian matching his strides. When they reached the small tent, Caspian and Edmund took a moment to lower the sides, giving them privacy while they looked after the High King. Caspian ordered word to be sent to the Healers for help, before joining the others at Peter's side.

Edmund, meanwhile, pushed his way through his siblings and the others to Peter's side. His heart leapt into his throat when he noticed that Peter was no longer conscious. Helen was trying very hard not to break down as she gently called out to Peter. Lucy and Susan were staring at their brother, and Quentin looked worried and a little lost.

Edmund knelt down beside his brother's head and gently tested his temperature again, finding that he was still feverish. He wasn't certain, but the fever seemed to be worse, although that could simply be from the heat of competing in full armor on a rather warm afternoon.

"Caspian, could you and Glozelle start taking Peter's armor off so that the healers won't have to work around it when they get here?" Edmund asked, suiting his actions to his words and removing Peter's gauntlets and shield from his arm.

The two that Edmund had appointed worked quickly, years of experience aiding them as they removed all the armor from his legs first, while Edmund finished removing it from Peter's arms and shoulders, until only the scarlet tunic, chest plate, chain mail shirt, and light linen tunic remained. It took all three of them to work the tunic over Peter's head without jarring him in anyway.

The armor underneath was caved in at the point where the lance had hit. Everyone sucked in a startled breath at the sight and Caspian groaned softly. It was apparent from the damage to the armor that Caspian's lance had _not_ touched Peter's shield and been partially deflected, which they had hoped had been the case. Peter had taken a full blow to his right side from the lance.

They moved very carefully now. While Caspian held Peter up, Edmund untied the laces holding the chest piece to Peter's body, and Glozelle pulled it away, leaving only the mail shirt, which didn't appear to be damaged in anyway. Caspian continued to hold Peter while Edmund and Glozelle worked the chain mail over his head. Once the chain mail was removed, Caspian lowered Peter back down, and they carefully pushed the white linen tunic up to reveal the injury beneath.

Peter's entire side was already beginning to turn black and blue, in a very uneven, mottled fashion. The worst of the bruising seemed to be centered on his ribs, but it was creeping over onto his back and even the underside of his arm was beginning to darken.

Helen gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Susan and Lucy both cringed, and Quentin blinked and looked faintly green. The injury looked horrible, and they all hoped that it wasn't as serious as it appeared to be. Edmund leaned over to study it more carefully, a lifetime of assessing battle-field wounds giving him a degree of experience the others didn't have. Before he could do anything, Healer Parsus burst into the tent, and pressed the worried family and friends aside so he could kneel at the King's side.

"What happened?" he asked studying the bruised area intently. "The messenger only told me there was an accident at the jousting ring."

"Caspian and Peter were competing in the exhibition event," Susan said, her voice level and calm. "They had ridden through two passes, and on the third one, something startled Peter and he pulled back on the reins. His horse bucked right at the same moment that Caspian hit him with the lance, and he fell off. Peter wasn't holding his shield properly, and the lance caught him full in the side. When he fell, he crashed into the rail before hitting the ground. Edmund said he seemed disoriented and kept muttering something about giants, and that he was feverish."

Parsus nodded and turned his attention to his patient. With precision he examined the bruised areas on the young King's body, his eyes darkening as he did so. Looking up, he focused on the royals gathered around him. "His breathing is shallow and before he lost consciousness he was incoherent, correct?" Edmund nodded tightly, and Parsus continued, "I suspect he has a few broken or cracked ribs. It's hard to tell. He hit the ground hard, and he may have knocked his head. A slight concussion would account for the delusions." Glancing down at his patient again, he frowned and shook his head. "I would like to get him to the healing chamber so we can cool him down and try to rouse him. I don't like that he's unconscious after a possible head injury."

Quentin and Glozelle moved quickly to lift the litter again. They moved out of the tent, the litter balanced between them. Parsus, Helen, Susan, and Lucy followed closely. Edmund sorely wanted to go with his brother, but there was something else that they needed to do first.

Reaching out, he grasped Caspian's sleeve again and drew the young man to a halt when he would have followed the others back to the palace. When Caspian looked at him with a puzzled expression, Edmund gestured back at the field.

"We need to address the people," he said quietly. "We need to tell them that Peter was merely stunned by the blow and that he is being observed in the palace's healing chamber as a precaution. We don't want them to worry and start rumors."

Caspian nodded and headed toward the tent flap. "Together?"

Edmund nodded and they stepped through the tent flap together heading for the field. A roar of whispers greeted them as they stepped up onto the raised dais the herald had used earlier. They glanced at each other for a moment, before Caspian indicated that Edmund should speak first.

The younger King nodded and raised a hand, receiving instant silence as everyone waited to hear the news of the High King's injury, all of their attention focused on him. Edmund took a deep breath and drew on the years of speaking in public, his voice – although it had gone back to not having broken yet – reaching every ear effortlessly.

"As you no doubt saw, High King Peter took a blow from King Caspian's lance that knocked him from his mount," he began. "He was stunned by the blow and the fall and is currently being observed by Healer Parsus as a precaution. The Healer does not expect there to be any complications from the fall, and there is no need to worry for my royal brother's health."

Caspian stepped forward as Edmund stepped back. "Until the High King is released and able to address you himself, no winner will be declared in the exhibition joust. Prizes for the event winners will also be awarded at that time. In the meantime, please, enjoy the festival and the food and have no fear for High King Peter's safety."

Both young men stepped down and immediately moved toward the palace to catch up with the rest of their companions, a din of murmurs following them. Caspian glanced sidelong at Edmund as they walked. "Do you think it will calm their worries?"

"Not really," Edmund admitted. "Until they see Peter on his feet with their own eyes, speculation will continue. But I wouldn't worry too much about it. Peter's taken his fair share of injury in other tournaments and practices, although I have to admit that was probably the most spectacular fall he's ever taken."

"Figures I'd be the one to do it," Caspian grumbled, closing his eyes and shaking his head before grimly heading towards one of the side doors into the palace.

Edmund shook his head and nudged his fellow King when they were out of sight of the crowd and threading the passages of the Cair. "Hey now," he said. "Remember, not your fault. Repeat after me. Not your fault."

The older King wrinkled his nose. "I get it Edmund, it's not my fault."

************************************************************************

_Healing Chamber…_

Peter was gently lifted from the litter onto a soft bed covered in clean white linen. Helen was dismayed when she noted how close to the color of the bedding her eldest son's face was. Reaching out, she brushed a strand of sweat-soaked blonde hair away from his face and frowned.

"He is still very hot," she said, looking to the healer who was bustling about beside the bed, mixing together a noxious smelling paste that resembled nothing so much as green mashed vegetables. "Shouldn't we be doing something to cool him down?"

The healer looked up. "There is a bowl of water and rags beside you," he said. "You can use those to help cool him down. Full armor and chain mail is very hot and heavy to wear, especially when in full sunlight for as long as he was today." He gestured to the paste in his hands. "This will help ease the bruising from the lance. It also contains a mild analgesic to deaden the pain. The herbs are quite strong."

Lucy and Susan were perched on the end of Peter's bed, one on each side. The latter watched as her mother did as the healer had instructed and bathed Peter's hot forehead in an effort to cool him off. "Why isn't he waking?" she questioned. "You said you didn't want him to be unconscious in case he has a head injury."

Parsus nodded. "You are correct, Majesty. It is unwise to allow him to remain unconscious. Lady Helen? Speak to him and try to get him to rouse. I'm nearly finished here. If he doesn't rouse when you speak to him, he might when I apply this. It won't be painless."

The woman began to speak quietly to the unconscious boy and Lucy couldn't help the small smile that crossed her face, despite her brother's injuries. It was easy to see where Susan inherited her gentle nature, and she was glad that for once the burden of caring for Peter when he was injured was in far more capable hands. Lucy wasn't unaware that Peter felt that he couldn't fully lean on his siblings for support, that he needed to be strong for them. But she also remembered the conversation in the library two days ago, when she had heard Helen tell Peter that she would be strong for him, and Peter had said he was grateful to have her to depend on this time.

Parsus stepped over to the side of the bed as Edmund and Caspian entered the chamber in a rush, their faces grim as they took in the sight of Peter still unconscious on the bed, his face nearly as white as the sheets, except for where it was flushed with fever, the darkening bruises on his chest and side exposed for the healer's attention. "How is he?" Edmund asked, coming to an abrupt halt at the end of the bed and peering down at his older brother.

"I'm about to apply some salve to the bruising," Parsus explained. "We haven't been able to get him to respond to our voices, but I am hopeful he will when I begin treating his wounds. It won't be painless, no matter how careful I am. The bruises are simply in too odd of a location." Edmund nodded as Parsus leaned down and began to use his hands to spread the salve over the bruises, gently working the paste into the skin like a lotion. The healer's frown deepened as he came in contact with Peter's hot skin. "He's still quite hot," he muttered, but didn't stop his ministrations.

The blonde began to shift and tried to pull away from the hands that were touching him. Parsus paused, his frown lessening at this sign of a return to consciousness. "King Peter? King Peter, if you can hear me, I need you to wake up. I know this isn't pleasant, but I need you to be awake so I can make sure you're all right."

It didn't appear that Peter had heard the healer, or rather, hadn't understood what he had said, because it did look as though he had heard _something._ "Go 'way." He tossed his head as he spoke, struggling to break away from an unseen adversary. "Ki…killed you." He swatted feebly at whatever he was talking about, but didn't open his eyes. His breathing grew rapid and more shallow as he thrashed in the bed.

Helen peered closely at her son's face, a look of alarm spreading across her features. "His lips are blue! What's wrong with him?" Susan stood swiftly and pressed her hand on the woman's shoulder in support while Parsus reexamined him.

The old healer shook his head, his frown deeper than ever. "His breathing is not right, but I don't feel a broken rib that could have injured his lungs. He has a few cracked ribs, but those wouldn't be causing this. There's no sign of any injury that could be causing the breathing difficulty."

Stepping back from the bed, he looked thoughtfully down at the young King. "Something is ailing him. He's not getting any cooler, despite being out of the heat and his armor, and Lady Helen's cool compresses."

Edmund shook his head. "What do you mean? Something _else_ is ailing him? Something not related to the accident?"

The Telmarine healer nodded. "I have no other explanation."

For a moment, no one moved or spoke. Peter was mumbling again, and Helen pressed another compress to his fevered forehead. When he abruptly stopped thrashing and mumbling, she looked at him more closely, hoping to see his blue eyes looking up at her. "Peter?"

There was no response from the young man. She shook his shoulder gently, so as not to jar his injuries, but he didn't react. His face was oddly slack now, and her alarm, already high, shot up another few degrees. She placed her hand on his cheek and gently caressed his face, her fingers brushing over his mouth, which was slightly open. She pulled her hand back sharply and passed it in front of her son's face again, holding her palm in the air just over his mouth. "Peter!"

"Lady Helen?" Parsus asked, stepping forward again and bending back over his patient.

"I can't feel breath!" she cried. She was long past the point of calm, even the illusion of it, and tears were falling unchecked down her face. She had _known_ this tournament was a bad idea, but she had given in to her sons and daughters when she saw how eager they were about it.

Her announcement sent the room into a frenzy. Susan's hand flew to her mouth as she gripped the footboard of the bed with her other hand. Caspian reeled back several paces, a look of utter guilt swamping his features, and Edmund leaped forward to try to reach his brother's side. Quentin moved forward and rested his hands on Helen's shoulders, trying to comfort her without being intrusive, despite his concern for his best friend, which was clearly written on his face.

But it was Lucy's small frame that pushed everyone, including Parsus – who she actually knocked down in her haste, despite the fact that he was much larger than she was – aside. Reaching down to her belt, she nearly tore open the leather pouch that was fastened to her belt, seizing the small bottle that rested inside it and wasting no time uncorking it. "Edmund!" she snapped commandingly.

Her older brother responded immediately, raising Peter's head and shoulders slightly. Lucy leaned over her oldest brother and pried his mouth open further, tipping the bottle in her hand and administering a single drop of the amber colored liquid. She backed off as Edmund lowered Peter back to the bed, recorking the bottle and slipping it back into the pouch at her waist.

"What -?" Helen began, clearing her throat as she choked back her tears. "What just happened?"

Caspian spoke quietly from his place beyond the edge of the bed. "That is the juice of the fireflower, given to Queen Lucy by Father Christmas. It has the ability to cure any injury with a single drop. We can only pray that it can cure what is ailing King Peter."

Everyone waited tensely for some sign that the cordial had worked. Helen clenched Peter's hand tightly, Edmund couldn't seem to refrain from gently running his hand through his brother's sweat-soaked hair, Lucy and Susan held hands as they waited, Caspian stepped forward and gripped the footboard so hard his knuckles turned white, Quentin hovered just behind Helen, his eyes fixed on Peter, while Parsus kept checking the High King's temperature and pulse.

It soon became apparent that the cordial had done _something_, because Peter's breathing evened out and he seemed to relax on the bed. The bruises from his injury also began to fade much more rapidly than the salve Parsus had made could account for. Several more seconds passed before Peter's eyelids began to flutter, as if he was fighting for control over them.

Edmund leaned over his brother and pushed a strand of soaked blonde hair out of Peter's face, resting his other hand on the older King's arm. "Peter? Can you hear me?" There was a soft groan and a twitch from the boy on the bed, before his eyes flickered open for a moment. They closed almost immediately, fluttered again, and then finally blinked open and stayed that way, blue eyes focusing on Edmund's face where the younger King was leaning over him. "Peter?"

"Ed?" Peter croaked, a look of surprise crossing his face at the sound of his own voice. "What happened? Why do I feel like I've been pummeled by a Giant? Why do I…" he paused for a moment, confusion replacing the surprise. "Why do I _remember_ being pummeled by a Giant? What's going on?"

He started to sit up, but Parsus placed a hand on his chest and held him down. "Easy, my King," he soothed. "You had some nasty bruising from King Caspian's lance, I wouldn't move about too much yet. Give your sister's cordial some time to finish healing the wounds."

Peter started. "Cordial? For a lance blow? Why in the world-?" He turned to Lucy. "Why would you give it to me for something so trivial?"

Helen leaned forward. "There was more wrong with you than just bruises, Peter," she told him, her eyes red and swollen from her earlier tears. "You were barely breathing and you were so feverish that back home I would have taken you to a hospital right away."

The High King frowned. "I'd been feeling off all day," he mused absently, drawing incredulous looks from everyone and a distinctly angry one from Edmund, whose grip on his arm tightened painfully.

"You competed even though you _knew_ something was wrong?" Edmund asked, his voice low and deadly – the tone he used when passing judgment in court over the worst offenders. It was a measure of his anger that he allowed that tone to slip through, and it brought alarmed looks from Helen, Quentin, Caspian, and Parsus, who had never heard it before. Edmund was the most even-tempered of the four Pevensie siblings, and rarely showed any sign of his emotions in his actions, voice, or face, especially when he was upset. "When I asked you all those times today if you were all right, you were lying?"

Peter blanched, not used to his little brother's anger being focused on him. "No!" he replied quickly. "I thought it was just the combination of the heat, my armor, and the exertion from the competition. But when I was making that last ride…" he shuddered. "I thought…I was riding towards a Giant. It was so real, I tried to stop Realeza, but then I was knocked down."

Caspian shook his head. "It was no Giant," he said. "It was me. I couldn't stop in time when I saw that something was wrong and my lance clipped you in the side, instead of hitting your shield. Realeza bucked at the same moment, and you went backwards off her back, hit the rail, and then crashed to the ground. For a moment I thought I had done serious harm to you, King Peter."

Peter looked at the other King and saw the guilt shining in his eyes. "It's not your fault. I must have been so feverish I was hallucinating. I have no idea how I could have gotten so sick so quickly though. I was fine last night."

The others were at a loss as well, and turned to Parsus, hoping for an explanation. It was quickly evident that the healer had a thought as there was an oddly angered look on his usually welcoming face. When Parsus realized everyone's eyes were on him and they were awaiting an opinion of some kind, he swallowed and took a deep breath before speaking.

"King Peter is an otherwise healthy young man, who just yesterday was feeling right as rain," the healer said slowly. "I think it is highly unlikely that his illness was natural – I know of no sickness that can come on so quickly and with such deadly consequences. While there are venomous creatures in the forest, their toxins would have killed the king swiftly, not 24 hours later. Even slow-acting toxins would have shown more signs than a fever, delusions, and breathing difficulties." He looked to Peter now. "If you are looking for my opinion, I would venture to say that someone slipped you something between yesterday morning and this morning."

There was dead silence in the healing chamber before Edmund's voice broke it.

"Poison..."

Parsus nodded. "That is my opinion, my King," he said.

Caspian was frowning deeply, his arms crossed in front of him. He let out a sudden whoosh of breath. "Which means," he fairly growled, "there is even stronger evidence of a traitor in our midst."

Peter sighed heavily. "We must proceed with caution," he said, sitting up slowly and pushing the crisp blanket off his legs. "We don't actually have any proof that I was subjected to poison. Until we do, we have to tread carefully and not alert this assassin that we are on to him or her." Turning to Caspian, he added, "We had best make certain that none of us eat or drink anything not prepared by someone you trust with your life."

The young Telmarine King nodded. "So if we are not alerting this person to our knowledge of their attack, then what shall we tell the people down on the festival grounds? They are awaiting word on your condition."

Peter and Edmund exchanged glances, and then extended their glances to their sisters. Susan was the one to answer. "It might be to our advantage to pretend that Peter is still ailing," she said. "It might draw this person out." She hesitated, her brow furrowed. Then her eyes widened. "Oh," she exclaimed, drawing everyone's confused attention. "I don't think the poison was actually meant to kill Peter."

"What do you mean, Su?" Edmund asked. "He nearly died, he was barely breathing."

The young Queen nodded. "I know," she said. "But, hear me out." The others nodded and she continued. "Karis was bent on capturing Peter – he even said he needed no one else alive …" she ignored the jolt from Helen at that and pressed on. "If that's the case, why would he instruct the traitor to kill Peter? I'll bet anything the spy put too much poison into whatever he gave Peter."

Peter bit his bottom lip in thought. "That's an excellent point, Susan," he said. "Which means, I can probably leave this chamber and just feign some weakness. We can tell the people nothing more than I am well, albeit some heavy bruising. Caspian will be pronounced the winner of the exhibition."

He watched Caspian shake his head. "King Peter, you probably would have won if not for your hallucinations. I would be disrespecting your talent if we pronounce me the winner now."

But Peter waved him off. "I don't care," he said. "Honestly, I don't know that I would have won. And now we'll never know, unless we compete again someday. This is the best way, Caspian and I have no problem with it."

For a moment, Caspian looked like he might argue. But a glance to Edmund, who shook his head quickly, stopped the objection in his throat and he instead nodded his acceptance. "Very well," he said. "Then shall we make our way back to the tournament grounds?"

The others all moved to follow him, Peter gingerly testing out his still somewhat sore body and bringing up the rear. Weighing heavily on all their minds was one question: What did the spy – and Karis – hope to accomplish by poisoning Peter?

There would be time enough later to ponder the question. Right now, they to keep up the facade that nothing was wrong in Cair Paravel.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_**A/N: I can do nothing more than apologize profusely for the long wait for this chapter and I hope that those of you still tagging along for the ride enjoy it! To update you all, I have taken a job as the city editor at a daily newspaper, and in the executive editor's absence have been working more as a managing editor. SO, I have a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to write! I will finish this story, there is just no way of knowing how long it will take! Please, do continue to prompt me via PMs if you don't see a post for a while. Thank you to Violet Fire Krazed, randomgal2009 and Fierce Queen for their PMs looking for an update. Also, thanks to Lady Yoko -- you and your friends' interest in my story as you noted in your review gave me the last push I needed to write this chapter. I hope you're still around!**_

"Peter, are you sure about this?" Helen asked anxiously as they left the Cair and slowly started making their way back to the festival grounds. Peter was leaning on Edmund, the younger boy supporting just enough of his weight to make it appear that Peter needed aid to walk, but still allowing the High King to move freely.

"It's the best way, Mum. Whatever Karis' plan is, if we do everything in our power to make him think that it's going perfectly, when he makes his next move, we'll be ready and we'll be able to counter him, and possibly gain the upper hand," Peter explained.

They were almost to the edge of the festival grounds when Edmund pulled Peter to a stop, drawing the others with them, and earning himself several confused looks. Edmund released Peter's arm and moved over to the rear of the closest tent. He reached into his tunic and pulled out a handkerchief, which he quickly dipped into a bucket of water that was sitting on the ground.

"What are you doing, Ed?" Susan asked in confusion as she watched her younger brother.

"Lending some credence to Peter's act," Edmund replied, coming over and – before Peter could stop him – wringing the handkerchief out overtop of Peter's head, soaking the blonde hair and causing droplets of water to bead on the High King's face.

Peter sputtered, more out of surprise than anything, before leveling a glare at Edmund. "What was that for?"

"To make it look like you're sweating," Edmund replied. "We don't know what symptoms you were _supposed_ to be showing, and if the spy knows what to look for, you need to look somewhat ill. One of us should probably stay with you in the box at all times, and whoever it is can keep wetting you down, pretending to mop your forehead, but instead we'll be making it look like you're a little feverish."

Peter was forced to nod in acceptance of his brother's plan. They were both brilliant tacticians, but Edmund had always been better when it came to being sneaky and using what could be considered underhanded techniques. That was mostly due to the difference in the two brothers' sizes when they had first begun training under Oreius. Edmund had been so much smaller, Oreius had taught him many maneuvers that would allow him to hold his own in a fight with a larger, stronger opponent.

"Let's go and get this over with," Peter said with a sigh, resuming his position on Edmund's arm as Ed passed the damp handkerchief to Susan, who slipped it up the sleeve of her dress. He shuffled forward, doing his best to look tired, sore, and ill. As they made their way through the tents, word of their return spread rapidly, and by the time they reached the royal box, everyone had gathered to hear their monarchs speak.

Edmund made a great show of helping Peter down to his seat while the others retook their own places. Murmurs of concern rose as the citizens caught sight of the High King, who leaned back in his seat, apparently gathering his strength, while Caspian stepped forward and gained the attention of the crowd.

"My good Narnians and Telmarines," Caspian began. "As promised, there is word of the High King's condition. He has been checked over by the healers, and it has been determined that the accident did no lasting damage. King Peter is weary and somewhat sore as a result of his fall, but he will be fine in a matter of days. There is no cause for you to fear for him."

"Caspian," Peter said, lowering his voice and making an effort to sound scratchy and hoarse. Caspian turned away and Peter placed his hands on the arms of his seat and started to push himself to his feet. Edmund and Caspian were at his side in an instant, helping him stand and pretending to steady him as he shuffled forward. Murmurs rose again, but they silenced as Peter looked out over the assembly.

"I would like to thank all of you for your concern for my well-being," he began, forcing himself to roughen his voice and silently praising his oration tutor for teaching him how to make a speech no matter what he sounded like. He cleared his throat roughly. "As King Caspian has mentioned, I sustained only some bruising and scrapes as a result of my accident. I am most fortunate that it wasn't any worse, and I have no doubt that it is due to Aslan's grace." He blinked several times, feigning weariness. "The rest of the day's events are still scheduled. I am pleased to announce that, after some deliberation, it has been decided to award the victory in our jousting bout to King Caspian, exactly as it should be. He unseated me fairly, and I am quite pleased to award him his deserved honors." He turned to Caspian and offered the other King his hand. "Congratulations, Caspian. I am most impressed with your skills and look forward to facing you again sometime."

It was obvious that even though this was what they had agreed on, Caspian was still uncomfortable with the idea of claiming the title of victor when he believed that Peter should have won. But after a moment he clasped Peter's hand and managed a smile, to a roar of approval from the crowd. Peter released his hand after several seconds and turned back to the crowd. "Again, thank you for your concern, and please, continue to enjoy the rest of the festival and tonight's feast, when the winners will be awarded their prizes."

* * *

_The forest outside Cair Paravel...later…_

"Captain, I bring word from the palace."

The crow flitted about, finally landing on a rock outcropping beside a swarthy man dressed in varying black fabrics and hard black-dyed leather bits of protective armor. The man looked warily at the creature, still not comfortable around these Narnian beasts. He would be happy when Karis rid his new kingdom of the foul abominations.

"Has the spy done his duty, then?" He finally said, glancing in the direction of Cair Paravel, not yet visible.

"He has. I witnessed the False High King's illness myself," the crow said, twitching its head to the side. "It was enough to hinder his jousting and he was knocked from his horse, injured, but not overly so. He has an air of illness about him."

Nodding, the man turned to the crow and waved a hand. "Your services are no longer needed here," he said. "Travel to the castle and alert our Lord that the plan will be executed tonight. We will return as soon as we have them."

The crow said nothing more, but inwardly wondered at the term "them". He had thought the only one targeted by Karis was King Peter – but apparently he had been wrong. No matter, soon this would all be over and their Lord would have his throne.

* * *

_Festival grounds ….same time_

Peter swiped at his brow, feigning the act of wiping sweat. He had been consciously forcing himself to act sick, not wanting to alert the spy, whomever he was, that there was anything amiss in Karis' plan. Whatever the plan was, they had to do their best to keep it intact.

They needed the element of surprise this time, since an outright confrontation on Karis' terms had nearly been catastrophic. Peter wasn't about to let that happen again, not when his family and friends were in danger.

"Here."

Helen sat beside her son, handing him a goblet of water. He smiled lightly at her and took it, cradling it in both hands. "Thanks," he mumbled, looking back out over the festival grounds where the other Pevensies, Quentin, Caspian and some of their other friends were mingling with the people and wandering among the artisan tents. More than anything, he wanted to join them. Like his siblings, he'd always loved the festivals that surrounded these tournaments. There was so much to see and do, and it had given them much needed time together, with no pressure on them to make decisions.

Instead, here he was, sitting in the royal box, with someone they trusted to attend him at all times, surrounded by guards. It would add to the illusion that he was ill, but it was beginning to get very boring.

"Peter," Helen said, leaning back in her seat and casting her gaze out over the grounds, picking out each of her children in turn to assure herself they were well. "There are a few things I must ask you," she continued. "And I want you to be honest with me. We are going to be sitting here for a while and I think it's the perfect chance for you to tell me about your previous times here. For instance – the story about the duel with Caspian's uncle. You only told me the most basic facts, but now I want the whole story."

Peter cringed. "Oh, um ..." he looked down into the half-full goblet in his hands. "Are you sure you want to hear? I mean, it's in the past and what's the point of upsetting you with the details now?"

Leaning forward, Helen peered up into Peter's eyes. "Let me worry about my own feelings, Peter," she said quietly. "I'm asking you so that you can get it off your chest. Telling me is not the same as Edmund, Susan or Lucy. Or even Quentin. With me, you needn't be the brave or older one. It must be hard, since you are seemingly the main interest of this Karis. You wanted to lean on me? Then talk to me."

For a moment, it appeared Peter would not do so. But Helen knew her son, and she knew that no matter the front that he put on for the others, he was deeply troubled by something. Since she didn't know what, exactly, bothered him, she was determined to get him to talk, so she picked something out of the blindingly overwhelming flood of information and hoped that would get him started.

Her intuition proved correct as, after several moments, he started to speak. "It was hard," he began, peering hard at the knee of his breeches and picking at a piece of lint only he could see, apparently. "Aslan appointed me the High King, so everyone always looked to me as if I would know what to do. But, I didn't always." His words came slow -- as if he were forcing them. Despite wanting to confide in his mother, part of him still felt like he had to hold it in and be the man.

Expressing emotions wasn't easy, especially after fifteen years of keeping them tightly bottled up in order to remain the strong one for his siblings.

"Caspian had summoned us back to Narnia because he was desperate and feared for his life," Peter began, deciding to start somewhere easy. "He didn't know that by using Susan's horn, it would summon the four of us. During the time it was in Su's possession, she only used it if she got into trouble during a campaign, and it always summoned the Narnians to her. Over the years that had passed here since we left, a variety of legends started to surround the horn. Some said that it would summon us out of the past, others said that it would summon Aslan. Caspian wasn't expecting us."

"He didn't know the legends?" Helen asked.

"Not really," Peter said. "Cornelius only had time to give it to him and tell him to only blow it at his greatest need. So when we showed up a few days later, Caspian was shocked. Even if he knew that the horn might summon us, I think he expected that it would be our older selves that would come. But we were almost the same age that he was, so there was a little bit of tension in the beginning. It didn't help that I was still recovering from fighting in the war at home.

"We did everything we could to gain an advantage, but we were badly outnumbered, so we took a somewhat desperate gamble. By staging the raid on Miraz's castle, we hoped that we could capture him and end this peacefully, with minimal loss of life." He looked up at his mother's face, and he could see her worry there. "It probably wasn't the best of ideas, but we were all bound and determined. We had to win, because losing would cost Caspian and the Narnians their lives – and it would also completely destroy Narnia and Ed, Su, Lu, and I were not about to allow that to happen. We didn't count on my being reinjured and losing the ability to walk.

"When the idea of challenging Miraz to single combat came up, I was still unable to walk," Peter said, looking away from his mother, out to where Edmund, Quentin and the girls were watching a pair of Fauns sparring. "Ed was convinced that I would recover right before the fight, but I was so afraid that I wouldn't heal in time to fight and I'd have to watch Ed fighting and pretending to be me. It was ..." he faltered, suddenly bombarded by memories of Greece.

It was startling, since he had gone at least a week since his last real jolting memory from his war time experiences back home. For the most part, he had thought that being here in Narnia, both when they were fighting Miraz and now had helped to purge those memories from his mind – since most of his nightmares at school had revolved around the failed raid on the castle.

"Peter?" Helen said, reaching out in concern. "Please, tell me."

Gulping, Peter bit his lip and then nodded. "I felt helpless, Mum. Like I had back in Greece, when we were retreating. All these men I knew, falling around me. And I couldn't do a thing to help them. I was powerless. Just like I was powerless to help Ed in the hours leading up to the duel with Miraz."

He huffed, "I don't like feeling powerless."

Peter was momentarily surprised when his mother chuckled. He peered at her in question and she smiled lightly. "I'm sorry, it's not funny, but hearing you speak like that reminded me of a time when your father didn't want to let you go to sleep-away camp. He didn't like the idea of being powerless in the event you got hurt. I often feel the same when I see you kids off to school. It's never easy to let loved ones take their own steps in the world, Peter. And harder still when you know those steps are taking them into danger."

The young King nodded in understanding. "That must have been how you felt when I was drafted," he said quietly. "I hadn't thought of that, actually. You probably understand what I'm talking about even more than I realized."

She nodded grimly. "Probably." She looked out over the tournament field to her other children. "So, Edmund didn't fight, obviously. You got better?"

Peter haltingly continued his story, and gradually, as he spoke his words began to come faster and faster – perhaps a little desperate, as if they had been waiting ages to be spoken.

He told his mother about how he had feared he wouldn't be strong enough, smart enough or brave enough to protect his siblings and his people Not just during the war with Miraz, but al during the fifteen years of their rule, and most especially the early years, while they had still been learning to be Kings and Queens. He spoke of how he had feared he wouldn't be able to hold Miraz off long enough to give Lucy the time she had needed to find Aslan.

Peter also told her how hard it had been when he had known Edmund was watching him, fearing for him. "I always hated worrying them," he said quietly. "And I could almost _feel_ Ed's fear. He was petrified he was going to lose me. And … there were moments _I_ was just as frightened he would. But I wasn't afraid for _me_, for my life. I knew that Oreius had taught me well, and compared to what I saw in Greece, the wars and fighting in Narnia don't seem as bad. I was afraid for them, for what would happen to them and for what they would be feeling if I failed."

Chancing a glance at the woman, he was surprised to see not horror but understanding in her eyes. "Mum?" He said, not sure how to ask her what she was feeling, but wanting to know why she wasn't reacting as he had expected – as she had so often since arriving in Narnia.

Helen took a deep breath. "Sorry," she said, "but you just remind me so much of your father." She wrapped her hand around his hand, where it was resting on the arm of his chair. "I didn't realize it, but you have grown up so much, Peter. What you felt, and still feel, is no different than what a parent feels when responsible for a child – but on a much larger level. I must say, Peter, I am beyond impressed with how you have handled yourself. You are still so young, yet you have taken up your mantle of leadership with far more grace and skill than some of our world's great leaders. I ..." she faltered, but then drew herself up. "I have full faith in you, Peter. You _will_ get us through this, with Ed, Susan, Lucy, Caspian – everyone's – help."

Hesitating, she added, "Even that Aslan fellow you mentioned."

Peter's head snapped up at that. "How do you know that?"

Smiling, Helen didn't meet his eyes. "Oh, we had a little chat," she said nonchalantly.

Peter gasped beside her, blurting out an incredulous "What?" and then "Explain!" that had her chuckling.

"In the courtyard after we had one of our spats," she said. "He told me that you and your brother and sisters were still the children I knew, but I just had to look more closely – pry up the King and Queen layers that you took on when we arrived. You always were a smart boy. A natural leader. I don't know why I chafed at it here. You can do no more or less than be yourself."

He nodded, relieved, for some reason, to finally really feel that his mother believed in his abilities and fully supported him. A weight lifted off his chest and he felt lighter than he had since arriving in Narnia.

Maybe even lighter than he had in _years_.

Now, someone knew how he had struggled with being the oldest – the High King. Even more, it was someone who _understood_ it in a way that only someone who had held such lofty responsibility could understand. And what loftier responsibility was there then holding the life of your children in your hands day in and day out?

"Mum?" Peter finally said, drawing her gaze toward him. "Thanks..."

She patted his shoulder and then pressed a hand to his head. "Must keep up the facade," she said, putting on a worried expression and pretending to urge him to drink more of the water he still held.

Little did they know that the peace they felt that moment, was soon to be shattered.

* * *

_Forest outside Cair Paravel… that night_

The brush rustled and the captain raised his crossbow in front of him. He didn't fire. He _was_ waiting for someone, but wasn't sure this was that person just yet. Caution was key. They didn't want a Narnian or Telmarine to stumble on them and raise the alert.

A figure finally managed to press through the jumble of branches, muttering an oath under his breath. He looked up sharply when he found himself face to face with the captain's sharp arrow.

"C...Captain Salzan?" The man, a Telmarine, stuttered. Salzan studied his trembling, flour-covered form for a moment before he nodded an affirmative and lowered his crossbow. "I … the King and his brother and friend are in their quarters. I have made sure the entrance is clear, but getting to them will not be easy."

A feral grin crossed Salzan's face. "Easy is boring," he said. "I like a good challenge. You get us into the palace, we'll take care of the rest. Our force is strong, and larger than they will expect. We need only fight long enough to accomplish our task."

The Telmarine nodded, wringing his hands together in front of him. "And me?"

Salzan smirked. "Say nothing. Remain here and do as you have been. Our Lord may have need of you at a later date." He watched the man nod. "You will lead myself and my squad into the palace." He turned to a man beside him, tall and lean with blond hair and beard. "Go now, Pikall, and start creating mayhem. It _is_ what you do best."

Pikall snapped a crisp salute of sorts and smiled. "It is, Captain. We'll make _lots _of noise."

* * *

_Caspian's study …_

He had fallen asleep in his study, as he had done numerous times since his beloved's kidnapping. And he had been having a rather pleasant dream. Miriam had been safely found and rescued and they were standing, side-by-side, at the dais in the throne room facing a crowd of friends and subjects.

And they were married.

Finally together.

The dream was broken when his study door was suddenly shaking under a heavy pounding hand. Caspian jerked awake in time to hear someone call out, "My King? Caspian?" A moment later it burst open, most unusual conduct, and Glozelle nearly tumbled into the room. "King Caspian! Thank Aslan you are well! The Cair is under attack and when I could not find you in your room … I feared …"

Caspian jolted up so fast his head spun. "_What?_" he shouted, standing quickly. "Attack? Where? How? For what purpose?!"

Glozelle waited for the young monarch to join him and then hurried out into the corridor. His study was near the library, half-way across the castle from his bedchamber where his armor was so Glozelle hovered close to his liege in case of attack.

"There are raiders within our walls," he said. "How they got in, I cannot say. I went to your chambers, straight away, but found them empty..."

Caspian interrupted him. "The Kings and Queens? Are they well? Their chambers were near mine."

Glozelle frowned. "I found them heading for your chambers, my liege. They all appeared to be well, including Sir Quentin and Lady Helen. I told them about the fight in the courtyard, and they headed in that direction while I came to find you after we realized you hadn't been in your rooms tonight."

Swearing under his breath, Caspian chided himself for not being in the residential area tonight. They had known that Karis had had a reason for poisoning Peter. He should have known it was to weaken him to attack. _But I never thought he would attack the Cair directly_, Caspian thought to himself. _He can't expect to overtake us, can he? He would need a vast army._

A brief flicker of fear ran through him that perhaps the man _had_ such an army, but it died just as fast. If he did, he would have used it at the meeting. No, Karis didn't have such an army. So why would he risk coming to the Cair?

Bursting out into the courtyard, Caspian was shocked to find the fight over.

Peter and Edmund were both examining each other for injury, Susan was hovering beside Lucy and Helen, and Glenstorm was tending to a small wound on a fellow Centaur's flank. His eyes narrowed. Something was missing.

"Caspian!" Peter called out. "We are glad you are well!"

The young King nodded, eyes narrowed. "I am, I was in my study," he said. "Peter … where is Quentin?"

The High King's eyes widened in horror and he spun around. "Quentin!?"

Everyone else in their immediate vicinity began to spin around and look for the red-brown hair of Peter's best friend. But as the seconds passed, it became apparent he wasn't there. "When was he last seen?" Peter said quickly, panic simmering just below the surface as his worry for his friend grew.

"I saw him just before we came down here," Edmund said. "I gave him one of my swords. He didn't have any arrows left, and I didn't want him to be defenseless. I thought he was right behind us!"

Caspian turned to Glozelle and Glenstorm. "Search the Cair, quickly."

The two nodded and rushed off.

"We'll find him," Caspian said, this time to Peter. "Are you all right? Was this some kind of failed attempt to kidnap you?"

Peter nodded. "It must have been. There were two forces. One attacked here, the other actually attacked our chambers. We were able to rout them before they could take me, but it was readily apparent they had come to do so. When their leader saw I was far from incapacitated, he called a retreat. We chased them down here, but they didn't stick around."

"And there were no wounded to question," Edmund added. "Only dead. We did not suffer any deaths, thank Aslan." He turned to Peter. "There is something that is bothering me, though. I don't recall seeing that man, the one who seemed to be leading our attackers. I don't remember seeing him down here."

Helen's hand raised to her face. "Oh dear." She looked at Peter. "There was a man. In the corridor, just beyond our rooms. I thought he was one of the Telmarines, but … it _could_ have been that man you described, Peter. Do you think he remained behind for some reason?"

Peter swallowed. "He might be in the castle still. We must be careful. We should go somewhere less out in the open to continue this conversation." Turning to Caspian, he added: "We'll fill you in on all that transpired in your absence. Maybe you will see something we missed."

The others readily agreed and followed Peter and Caspian toward the latter's study.

The High King's heart was thudding heavily in his chest.

Where was Quentin?

* * *

_Earlier..._

Edmund shook his head and Peter smacked his with a palm. Quentin smiled loftily. "Check. _Mate_."

Peter sighed heavily and bowed his head. "You win. Again. There's no beating you, Quentin," the young man said, shifting back in his seat at the small table at the foot of one of the beds in the chamber. "Maybe Edmund here wants to try?"

But Edmund raised both hands and shook his head. "No way, not going to let him embarrass me, Peter. I'll leave that to you. Honestly, that was one of the shortest games of chess I've seen in a long time!"

Quentin fiddled with the black knight. "Oh come on," he said. "It wasn't _that_ bad."

But they all knew – it had been. The High King just wasn't on his game tonight.

Peter pushed his chair back and stood, stretching gingerly. "I'm getting a bit tired," he said. "Perhaps we should turn in? It's been a long day."

As his brother stepped into the washroom, Edmund met Quentin's concerned gaze with one of his own. Pursing his lips, he watched the door close behind Peter before speaking quietly. "Lu's cordial is magical, but I expect Peter's probably a bit sore still. We _should_ turn in."

Quentin nodded, standing and stretching like his best friend had done moments ago. "I could do with a little sleep," he said. "It's been a heck of a day. You guys are used to all this excitement, but I'm not. Most of my days consist of reading and running errands for my mother. Or school."

Edmund smiled. "It takes some adjusting," he said. He might have continued, but Peter came back out of the washroom then and the dark-haired King tuned his attention to his brother again.

"You look wrung out, Peter," he said. "Maybe you ought to sleep in tomorrow. It'll only bolster our ruse that you're ill."

Peter sat on the edge of the brothers' bed. "I might do that," he said. "I'm beat."

Edmund waited until his brother and friend were both sitting on their beds before he moved off to douse the candles in the room, casting the room into darkness. Streams of moonlight stabbed through the room from the windows, but not enough to make sleeping difficult.

The light was the boys' saving grace when moments later, the door slipped open and a posse of armed men crept into the room. They made next to no noise, and if Peter hadn't been half awake still, they might have gone unnoticed.

When he saw them, he nudged Edmund beside him and the dark-haired boy turned toward him sleepily. In doing so, he too noticed the movement in the room. Quentin, in the bed by the windows, seemed to be oblivious.

That could prove problematic, Peter realized. Quentin would be defenseless.

What he didn't know was that Quentin _wasn't_ oblivious. He hadn't realized what the feeling was, but something had been keeping him from sleep. A feeling of foreboding. That something was different tonight.

When he saw the creeping men, he realized it was the lack of servants' footsteps or hoof-beats in the corridor. He had perceived it every night thus far, but not this night. Now he knew why.

While he was aware of the trespassers, he wasn't within reach of a weapon. He thought Peter and Edmund had their swords within jumping distance, but he wasn't entirely sure. He expected he'd find out soon enough.

As the men reached the bed with the two Kings, the brothers erupted in a shower of blankets and lunged for their weapons – Edmund grasping his two swords, Peter gripping Rhindon and his shield.

Their movement and element of surprise gave Quentin time to slip from his own bed and reach the bow and quiver full of arrows he'd been given by Glenstorm. With shouts to alert anyone in the vicinity, Peter and Edmund launched quick and blinding attacks in the wane moonlight, taking down two men immediately.

At the sound of fighting, activity burst into life in the hallway and more men streamed into the room. Quentin used his bow and began to take them out as they breached the boys' room. Even though he failed to actually kill any of their attackers, he was able to wound them enough to slow them down and allow Peter and Edmund a chance to finish them off. It wasn't long before he was out of arrows and had to dodge an incoming sword.

Thankfully, Edmund saw his plight and with a cry of "Quentin, here!" tossed the other dark-haired boy one of his own swords. While Quentin had been far from talented with the sword on the training field, Peter had insisted he at least have a basic knowledge of wielding one.

It was the only thing keeping him alive right now, so Quentin made a note to himself to thank his friend for insisting.

Quentin's thoughts strayed to the women down the hall. Were they all right? "Peter!" He called out, when the men in the room had dwindled enough to give him a chance to do so. "The girls! Your mum!"

Peter jolted and slammed his shield into the face of the nearest warrior, felling him like a sack of potatoes. "Go!" he cried out. "We need to take this fight out of the room. There are too many things to trip on. And we need to get to the girls and Mum!"

Edmund acknowledged the command by moving toward the door. Quentin, who was next to it anyway, bodily knocked into a man coming through, flinging him to the ground, and scrambled through the now-unblocked entry.

The hallway was in just as much disarray as the boys' room had been, only most of these foes had been taken down by arrows. Peter stepped out the door behind Quentin and looked toward his sisters' and mother's room.

He spied Susan, whipping off arrows at approaching men. Helen, who had also been given a bow and arrows by Glenstorm at her daughter's insistence, was doing the same, only slower. Like Quentin, she was mostly only wounding them, but it was enough. It was strange to see their normally docile mother with a fierce look of concentration and anger on her face. But this was the first battle where she had seen her children really fight and it was obvious she was in a protective mode.

What surprised Peter nearly enough to make him miss a sword thrust at his shoulder was Lucy. His little sister, who usually stayed out of battles, or used her dagger for protection, was in the thick of things swinging a long staff.

And doing it with impressive speed, precision and deadly results.

As he sidestepped another sword thrust, he had to push his thoughts of where Lucy had learned this new skill out of his mind. The men in the hallway were dwindling now, and he and Edmund jumped toward the few remaining men, taking them down quickly and with little effort.

When the danger appeared to have been routed, the two groups met and exchanged hurried greetings and perusals for injury. No one had been hurt, thankfully, and Peter breathed a small sigh of relief at that.

"How did they get in?" Edmund fumed, pacing in the hallway. "They should never have made it this far into the Cair. It's unbelievable. If we hadn't stayed up so late playing chess, who knows what could have happened!"

Peter nodded lightly. "How they got in will need to be determined, but right now we need to find Glozelle and Glenstorm – and Caspian. We don't know who this attack was really after, though I expect it was the second half of the plan that involved poisoning me. It would have been easier to capture me if I was unable to fight back."

The High King returned to the boys' room and grabbed his sword belt and sheath. He picked up Edmund's and went back into the hallway, handing it wordlessly to his brother. The boys didn't sheath the weapons, but instead led the way toward the Telmarine King's chamber.

They hadn't gotten far when Glozelle whipped around the corner, sword out and hair in disarray. He was half dressed in armor, which appeared to have been hastily flung on over sleep clothes.

"Thank goodness you are all safe!" he cried upon seeing the four Narnian royals and their mother and friend. Looking past them, he saw the remains of battle and sucked in a breath. "The attack happened on two fronts then," he said in alarm. "There is a battle raging in the courtyard. We need to get more warriors down there. I came to find King Caspian."

Peter pushed open Caspian's heavy wooden door and stepped in.

His eyes narrowed. "He isn't in here," he said. "The bed looks untouched."

Glozelle slammed a fist into the doorframe. "He's been taken!"

But the High King shook his head slowly. "I don't think so," he said. "This room looks untouched. Caspian would not have gone down without a fight. Is it possible he was not in his room when the attackers breached the Cair?"

The general frowned. "He has had trouble sleeping of late. I will check the library. And his study. He may be in one of those two. They are far enough from the two battlefronts that he might be unaware of an attack. We didn't have time to raise the alarm."

Peter nodded. "We will go to the courtyard and try to help route these attackers."

The group parted ways with Glozelle and hurried through the corridors toward the courtyard.

Completely unaware that Quentin was no longer in their midst.

Bringing up the rear of the group, Quentin had stopped to grab some arrows so he wouldn't be going into the courtyard unarmed. He hadn't felt the presence suddenly looming up behind him, nor perceived the raising of a sword above his unprotected head.

He was briefly aware of a flaring pain when the hilt impacted with the back of his head. And then he was aware of nothing.

A man's white-toothed smile gleamed in the hallway. "It's not the High King, but the younger King will have to suffice," the man whispered. "Karis can use this boy to get to his brother. Surely _High King_ Peter will not let his brother remain a prisoner."

Stooping, he lifted Quentin easily, flipping him up over his shoulder. And stealthily, he slipped through the corridors and from the Cair. The sounds of battle in the courtyard ceased as he made his way into the forest. It didn't matter what had happened down there – they had achieved something close to their objective.

Kidnapped one of the royals.


End file.
